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

The two Tampa officers had seated themselves together at the forward end of the car. They were lean, quiet men, of undying nerve, and crack shots in the moment of need.

It did not take long to haul the one-car special down to the port. As the train began to run out onto the long mole, all hands in the car crowded at the forward doorway.

Before the engine came to a full stop Tom Halstead and Joe Dawson were off and running at a great burst of speed for the extreme end of the mole. Halstead was the first to gain it.

“The ‘Buzzard’ is gone from anchorage,” he cried, as his gaze swept the harbor.

“That little bit of hull we can see away down past the harbor looks like the ‘Buzzard’ heading south,” declared Joe.

“It must be,” nodded Tom Halstead. “But Jeff will very likely know.”

A busily-throbbing little naphtha launch was hovering close in the water.

“Hurry in for a fare, can you?” shouted Captain Halstead, framing his mouth with his hands.

The launch turned in at the float, and by this time the other members of the party had hastened up.

“Out to the ‘Restless’, and give your whistle head enough so that our man on board will hear you,” cried Tom, as the launch cast off.

In response to the screeches of the whistle Jeff Randolph soon appeared on the deck of the motor cruiser, waving his arms in answer.

“Get everything ready for a lightning start!” yelled the young skipper over the water. This Joe supplemented with some strenuous signals.

“Do you know whether that’s the ‘Buzzard’ vanishing to the southward?” demanded young Captain Halstead, the instant he clambered over the side.

“Yes; it is,” nodded Jeff, promptly.

CHAPTER XXII

KICKING WATER IN THE WAKE OF THE “BUZZARD.”

“DID you see what passengers she carried?” added Tom Halstead, breathless with suspense.

“A young man. I didn’t note him particularly at the distance,” Jeff Randolph drawled.

“Could it have been Oliver Dixon!”

“Why, yes, about his build, though the distance was considerable, and the fellow’s back was turned this way as he went on board.”

“Just one passenger went to the ‘Buzzard’, eh?” broke in Henry Tremaine.

“All I noticed,” confessed Jeff. “I wasn’t paying particular attention.”

Joe, in the meantime, had made a straight break down into the motor room. Now his engines were running.

“Lay out forward, here, Jeff, to help me stow the anchor away,” called the youthful skipper. One of the Tampa officers also aided.

“Crowd the speed on, Joe, as fast as you properly can,” shouted down Halstead as he took his place at the wheel.

Almost with a jump the “Restless” started. The boat supposed to be the “Buzzard” was now about hull-down. Her solitary signal mast would be a hard thing to keep in sight across an interval of several miles.

By this time Jeff Randolph was in possession of the main facts. He knew they were in frenzied pursuit of Oliver Dixon, who was believed to carry with him some sixty thousand dollars, in all, that Henry Tremaine stood to lose.

Now that President Haight knew his bank did not stand to lose a large sum, because of Tremaine’s unfaltering guarantee, the bank man was no longer near a state of collapse. Still, he keenly felt Tremaine’s suspense.

“I’ll never be such a fool again,” muttered Tremaine, to his wife. “I’ll never go security for anyone after this – not even my brother.”

“I can’t understand why you were so easy over the loss of the first ten thousand dollars,” murmured his wife.

“That was because I believed the whole matter would come out presently. I didn’t want to suspect Halstead, and I didn’t want to suspect young Oliver Dixon. So I didn’t know where the lightning might hit. Rather than stir up trouble I preferred to wait and see what the developments would be. Ten thousand dollars I could stand the loss of, if I had to, but sixty thousand – ”

The “Restless” was kicking the water at a furious gait, now, but Captain Halstead groaned when he realized that the “Buzzard” had succeeded in taking her hull wholly out of sight.

“Mr. Tremaine, I’ll have to press you into service,” called the young sailing master, firmly.

“Yes; do give me something to do,” begged the charter-man, stepping up beside the wheel.

“The ‘Buzzard’ is now so far away, sir, that I’m not quite sure whether I can see her signal mast or not. Sometimes I think I do; at other times I’m in doubt. You might take the marine glass, sir, and see if you can pick up that mast and keep it in sight.”

“Indeed, I will,” breathed Tremaine, anxiously.

“Joe,” Captain Tom called down through the forward hatchway, “kick on every bit of speed you can crowd out of the motors. We’ve got to hump faster.”

“If I go much faster,” called Joe, dryly, “I’ll blow out a cylinder head.”

“Take a chance,” Halstead urged. “We’ve got to crawl up on that other craft.”

“I can make out her signal mast,” announced Henry Tremaine.

“Then keep that stick in sight, sir. There’s one nasty trick the ‘Buzzard’ might play on us if she got far enough in the lead,” explained the young skipper.

“What trick is that?”

“If she’s running close enough to shore, she might succeed in putting Dixon on land, then the ‘Buzzard’ could head out on her cruise again. If that happened, every throb of our propellers would be carrying us further and further from Oliver Dixon and his booty.”

“Good heavens, yes!” agreed Tremaine. “Well, I’m holding that signal mast steadily.”

“Does she seem to be nearing land?”

“Not yet. I judge her course to be southward.”

“Let me have the glass a second,” begged Halstead, jamming the wheel spokes with his knees as he reached out for the glass.

He took a long, intent look.

“Yes; she’s holding her southerly course,” Tom declared.

“Are we going to catch up with her!”

“I don’t know, yet,” Halstead admitted. “The ‘Buzzard’ is a fast boat. Whether we can catch up with her only the next two hours can tell. We’ve got a mighty good boat under our feet, Mr. Tremaine.”

“We need one!” cried that gentleman.

It being none of their affair, particularly, for the present, the two Tampa officers were lounging in deck chairs aft, smoking quietly. The ladies, however, stood just behind the men, as close to the bridge deck as they could keep without interfering with the handling of the craft.

“Let me have the glass again, please,” begged Halstead, ten minutes later. “Yes, I thought so,” he continued, after looking. “That line on the water near the horizon is the ‘Buzzard’s’ hull showing once more. Then we must be creeping up on her.”

“Want me to take the wheel, Cap’n, for a spell?” – hinted Jeff Randolph.

“Not just now,” vouchsafed Tom Halstead. “Just now straight steering counts for as much as the speed of the propellers. You may be a better helmsman than I, by a good deal, but I can’t take a single chance for the next hour.”

In the next half hour, during which the Tampa harbor was left far behind, the hull ahead loomed up no larger. It remained an all but indistinct line on the horizon.

“If Mr. Dixon is on that boat, do you think he knows we’re after him?” Ida Silsbee asked.

“He must have more than a suspicion,” Tom Halstead grinned.

“What an awful feeling his must be, then!” exclaimed the girl, shuddering.

“Are you sorry for him!” asked Mrs. Tremaine, slowly.

“Only in the sense that I’m sorry for any man who yields to the temptation to turn thief,” replied the girl, slowly.

As Joe Dawson thrust his head up through the hatchway his chum at the wheel could see that the young engineer was much disturbed.

“Are we crowding your motors too hard, Joe?” inquired Halstead.

“They’re mighty warm,” Dawson admitted.

“Any danger of exploding a lot of gasoline gas?” demanded Henry Tremaine.

“I won’t just say that,” replied Joe, hesitatingly. “But – ”

“But what?”

“If I keep up this overheating one or both of the motors may be put out of business.”

“Is that all?”

“It would ruin a pair of good engines.”

“If that’s all, boys,” responded Tremaine, “don’t let it worry you. If you hurt any engines, or damage your boat in any way, I’ll make good for it. I want to catch Dixon, and get that stolen money back. But, above money and every other consideration – at no matter what expense – I feel that I must overtake and punish the man who so fearfully abused my confidence and trust!”

CHAPTER XXIII

DIXON’S COWARDLY ACT

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

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

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

“What do you mean, lad?”

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

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

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

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

“Then we – ”

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

“We have police officers on board.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can’t we burn more gasoline?”

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

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

“Probably five miles, at least.”

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

“That’s right, sir.”

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

“Right again, Mr. Tremaine.”

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

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

“No? Why not?”

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

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

“Certainly, sir.”

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

Tom Halstead laughed enjoyingly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, sir.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I guess so. What can I do?”

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

“What signal?” queried the young engineer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What, then?”

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

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

“Eh?” asked Tom.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER XXIV

CONCLUSION

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

“Look away! Turn your backs!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Captain Beeman looked at once alarmed.

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

“Our prisoner,” interrupted Haight.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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