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

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!”

CHAPTER XVI

HAM PROMISES TO BE BRAVE HEREAFTER

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 what, sir?”

“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.

CHAPTER XVII

IN THE CIRCLE OF ’GATORS!

AGAIN the December day was warm and bright, as the little launch glided over Lake Okeechobee.

The boat that had lately been used by Sim and his crew was now being towed astern. In it were four of the Florida men, the other two being in the launch itself. All of these Florida men were armed with their own rifles. Thus, with the Tremaine party itself, the host considered the expedition too strong to be in danger from any lurking criminals who led a fugitive existence in the Everglades.

By the time the launch and its tow reached the lower end of Lake Okeechobee it was a little past noon. Tremaine planned that they would rove through the Everglades until about four o’clock, then having enough daylight to return to the lake. The last of the run homeward could be safely made with the light furnished by the launch’s bright running lights.

As they entered the black waters of this great swamp country Joe Dawson shut off most of the speed. At the same time the rowboat was cast off, for the men in that craft could now row as fast as the expedition would move.

“All talking must be done in low tones,” warned Henry Tremaine. “Noise often chases the ’gators under water. We want to see if we can’t bag two or three fine ones in the time we have left to us.”

For an hour launch and rowboat cruised about without even a sight of one of the much-sought alligators.

“I’m afraid it’s going to be a poor day’s sport,” muttered Tremaine, shaking his head.

“It’s never a po’ day’s sport, suh, until we get back stumped,” rejoined Jeff. “And we’re right in the very paht of the Everglades where the best shooting has been found this yeah, suh.”

Mrs. Tremaine settled back against cushions, turning the pages of a novel. She wasn’t going to betray any excitement until big game got right in front of the rifles.

Oliver Dixon forgot to keep a very sharp lookout. Ida Silsbee was seated at his right hand. The young man was devoting all his energies to making himself as pleasant as possible.

“I must do all I can, in every way, to hasten the day when I can propose to her,” the young man was thinking. “I shan’t be easy until this girl is Mrs. Dixon. Her fortune is too large a one for me to miss. Such chances don’t fall in my way every week.”

He was glad, too, that Ida was not paying very much heed to Halstead. But Tom had no time for that. Between guiding the launch and keeping a sportsman’s lookout, the young skipper was fully occupied. Jeff sat beside him, while Mr. Tremaine, rifle in hand, stood behind them much of the time, keeping a sharp eye on the water.

“There you are, sir,” whispered sharp-eyed Halstead, jogging Mr. Tremaine’s knee with his thrust-back left hand. “Just as far ahead as you can see, sir. Just beyond that point of land.”

“Jove! you’ve got sharp vision,” muttered Tremaine. “Oh, now I see it. Just the snout above water.”

Joe, at a signal from his chum, shut off the speed, the launch slowly drifting while the rowboat closed in behind.

Now the alligator’s head showed. From the course the brute was taking, it was heading for the nearest island. Presently its head and front legs appeared on the shore, the dim light glistening on the wet scales.

“Only a medium-sized fellow,” whispered Tremaine, sighting. “But a good deal better than no ’gator.”

Oliver Dixon caught enough of the spirit of the thing to crouch behind his host.

Bang! rang out Tremaine’s rifle. It was a hit, but the shot struck under the shoulder, not disabling the alligator. With an angry flopping of its tail the beast turned to take to deeper water.

Bang! came from Dixon’s rifle. This bullet struck against the ’gator’s jaw. Bang! sounded Tremaine’s second shot. This landed through the softer skin under the animal’s nearer eye.

“Close in,” commanded the host, eagerly. “We’ll get that chap all right, now.”

In its death agonies, yet possessing prodigious strength still, the ’gator flopped off into deeper water, diving.

“He’ll soon come to the surface,” predicted Jeff Randolph, coolly. “Better get in closer, Cap’n.”

The launch was still going ahead, slowly, when the alligator came up, its head almost under the gunwale. The reptile’s broad mouth opened, then the teeth snapped together, viciously.

Henry Tremaine leaned over the gunwale, and fired a shot that went in through an eye, penetrating the reptile’s brain.

“Back off a bit, Cap’n,” advised Jeff. “We-all will soon have him.”

Hardly a minute passed before the alligator, its last struggle finished under water, rose and lay on its back motionless.

“A higher type of animal, with a more vital brain, would have been killed quicker,” observed Henry Tremaine, running a cleaning rod down his rifle barrel.

The four men following in the rowboat now lashed one end of a line around the dead ’gator, the other end being secured at the stern of the launch.

“How many of these things can we tow?” asked Mrs. Tremaine.

“I don’t know, my dear, until I see how many we can get,” smiled her husband. “I’d attempt to tow a long string of ’gators before I’d consent to leave any of our game behind.”

“Fortunately we’ve food enough aboard so that we don’t need to mind, much, if we have to spend most of the night towing dead alligators home,” replied Mrs. Tremaine.

“Now, Cap’n,” advised Jeff Randolph, “yo’ may as well put on as much speed as yo’ can handle. It’ll be some time befo’ we’re likely to find any more ’gators above water within sound of the shots that have just been fired.”

For twenty minutes more the launch cruised along with no sign of the game of the Everglades. In places the water courses proved barely wide enough to permit the passage of the boat. Presently they caught sight of a stretch of open water at least a third of a mile in diameter.

“Oh, say! Look ovah there!” whispered Jeff, excitedly, pointing to land at the eastward.

“Over there,” well up on a slope, lay an alligator as huge as the one that Halstead had shot on a former occasion. The great reptile seemed asleep. It had evidently climbed high up from the water in order to catch the warmth of whatever sunlight might filter through the tall, moss-encumbered trees.

In great excitement Tremaine turned, holding up his hand as a sign to the occupants of the rowboat to halt. Then he bent over the young skipper, whispering hoarsely:

“Not too fast or too near. Slow, and no noise.”

Halstead, turning his hand, repeated the order to Joe Dawson by signal. The launch almost immediately fell off to a speed that was barely more than drifting.

“We mustn’t miss that fine fellow,” exclaimed Tremaine, throbbing with all the ardor of the sportsman. “Halstead, I think that fellow must be bigger than the one you bagged. He’s an old-timer!”

The ladies entered into the general excitement. They rose, remaining standing, though Ida Silsbee, who did not enjoy the report of a gun close to her ear, slowly tiptoed toward the stern.

“My shot first!” spoke up Tremaine, eagerly. Then he added:

“Unless you want the chance, Dixon?”

“No, thank you,” smiled the young man, carelessly. “I’ll shoot if you miss, but I hope you won’t.”

“But, really, if you want – ” urged Tremaine, considerately.

“I assure you again that I don’t want it,” replied the younger man, still smiling. “To me a good day’s sport is in seeing a big bag. I don’t care who does the shooting.”

“Halstead – ”

“I’m going to do my shooting with the steering wheel,” laughed Tom, quietly. “After my fine luck the other day I’m not going to risk my reputation again.”

So Tremaine had his heart’s real wish – the first shot at the dozing alligator.

Closer in crept the boat, while the unsuspecting reptile slumbered on. Thrice Henry Tremaine sighted, then lowered his rifle, preferring to wait for a nearer shot.

The two Florida men looked on with polite enough interest, though they did not offer to reach for their rifles. Alligator-killing was an old story to them.

“Now, I reckon you’re close enough, sir,” whispered Jeff Randolph. “Sometimes these ole ’gators wake and get into the water powahful quick.”

Again Tremaine sighted. He was too old a hunter to risk spoiling all by too long a sighting. He aimed for a spot just back of the fore shoulder.

Bang! Hardly had the flash left the muzzle when the huge ’gator thrashed, a red spot showing back of the fore shoulder. Then the slumbering animal turned with incredible rapidity, making for the water.

Bang! bang! Tremaine fired twice, as rapidly as he could, each shot going home. The wounded ’gator now floundered weakly close to the water’s edge.

“One more shot and I’ve got him!” breathed Tremaine, tensely. That fourth shot woke the echoes, and the alligator crouched low, too spent to take to the water.

“Give him a minute or two. Then we’ll go and get him,” declared Tremaine, turning to sign to the men in the rowboat that they could approach now.

“There goes Mr. ’Gator,” reported Jeff, as a final shudder ran through the bulky frame of the big reptile.

“Steam ahead, boys! Put in and get him,” directed Tremaine.

No one was looking at Ida Silsbee, just at that moment. She, for some reason, had risen on her tip-toes on the little decked over space aft.

As Joe turned on the speed with a throb, the girl tottered. There was nothing at which to catch. Uttering a frightened shriek, Ida Silsbee fell over backward into the water.

Joe Dawson heard that cry. Like a flash he shut off the speed. Then, his face white, he sprang and dived where the waters had closed over the girl.

There was another shriek, this time from Mrs. Tremaine, as she caught sight of an alligator snout rising above the water not fifty yards away.

Tom Halstead saw that snout on the water. In another twinkling he was over the side.

Oliver Dixon sprang to plunge in, also, but Mr. Tremaine caught him by the arm, crying huskily:

“No, no, Dixon! Two over are enough. And there’s a second ’gator, a third!”

Three of the brutes were close at hand, all nosing along towards these people at their mercy in the water.

Up shot Joe’s head above the black waters. He gripped Ida Silsbee, too, for Joe’s dive had carried him straight to her side.

“Look out for the ’gators!” shrieked Mrs. Tremaine, ghastly with terror.

The two Florida men had snatched up their rifles, prepared to fire. Mr. Tremaine already had his.