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

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!”

CHAPTER XIII

HENRY TREMAINE RUSHES THE VOODOO

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.

CHAPTER XIV

TOM HALSTEAD, STRATEGIST

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!”

CHAPTER XV

THE WHOLE BAG OF GAME

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.