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

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.

CHAPTER XVIII

A FEARFUL TWO MINUTES

RUSHING aft, Jeff dropped into a seat beside the motor. In another instant he had swung the speed on with his left hand, while his right grasped one of the rudder ropes.

Chug-chug! With the speed beginning, Jeff turned the launch in the shortest possible circle, then headed toward the people in the water.

“Yell!” he shouted. “Voices often scare ’gators!”

The Florida men in the rowboat won with the first yell by a margin of a second or so. Then everyone joined in.

The two who bent at the oars of the rowboat were putting in all their strength at a rapid, strong pull. One of the others crouched in the bow of the little craft, waiting until he should dare to fire.

Two of the alligators had slowed up, as if waiting to see what menace to them was conveyed by the chorus of wild yells. Then one of them sank below the surface.

The ’gator nearest Tom Halstead kept straight on, coming slowly, jaws moving and eyes blinking, as though the great reptile were figuring out the chances of successful attack.

“You just look out for Miss Silsbee, Joe,” warned Tom. “I’ll keep off this big fellow if I have to shove an arm down his throat!”

Ida Silsbee was wholly conscious. A brave girl, she had the good sense to realize how much depended upon her keeping cool and quiet, allowing her rescuers free hand to do what they thought best.

Tom Halstead had brought out his sailor’s clasp knife, opening the blade. He now held this weapon in his right hand, ready to strike, no matter how uselessly, as a means of attracting the attention of the nearest alligator.

In the launch Henry Tremaine watched, with a horrible fascination, for the alligator that had dropped below the surface. If hunters’ tales were true that vanished alligator was likely to try to drag down one of the helpless three from underneath.

Tom would not swim away from a straight line between Ida and the oncoming alligator. He watched, unflinchingly, the approach of the dangerous foe, wondering whether he could strike hard enough with his knife to make the ’gator retreat.

All this had occupied only seconds.

Now, Jeff Randolph had a chance to show what he meant to do. He drove the launch straight for the big alligator. The changed position of the boat gave Tremaine a possible chance to shoot without hitting any of those in the water.

“Don’t fire!” warned Jeff, quickly. “Wait, suh.”

Knowing that the Florida boy understood the points of the game vastly better, Tremaine removed his finger from the trigger.

As the launch sped up, the alligator from which most was to be feared veered slightly.

Jeff Randolph, however, was watchful and ready. He slightly veered the launch from its first course, then, as he had intended, drove the bow of the craft straight against the ’gator’s broadside.

The force of the impact almost capsized the launch. His hand on the reversing gear, Jeff shot the launch back a few yards, swinging around.

This changed position gave Tremaine a chance to fire – not at the alligator the launch had just struck, but at the other visible one. His rifle spoke out instantly, just before a shot came from the rowboat.

By this time the alligators had all they could do to attend to their own safety. The creature that Jeff had struck with the bow of the launch had rolled partly over, recovered its balance, and then lashed its way to greater safety. At this one, too, Tremaine now fired, hitting, while Oliver Dixon followed it up with another bullet that registered.

Half standing, and seeing how the day was going, Jeff Randolph now steered toward Joe and Ida. In a twinkling Dixon reached out for the girl. Tremaine helped him to haul her into the boat. Joe Dawson pulled himself in, with slight help from Tremaine. Joe’s first move was to lean over the opposite gunwale, and aid Captain Tom Halstead into the boat.

“Yo’ can get one of the ’gators, suh,” reported Jeff, pointing. “He’s hurt, but floating.”

Henry Tremaine again raised his rifle, sighted and fired. A second shot from him finished the ’gator.

“Two! That’s good enough sport for one day,” declared the host. “Ida, child, we’ve got to get you into something drier if possible, or you’ll have pneumonia. Didn’t you ladies bring some sort of extra clothing?”

“Yes; we’ve some makeshifts in the way of clothes that will make the child drier and warmer,” replied Mrs. Tremaine.

“Then we’ll run in to shore, disappear under the trees, and let you get Ida into those clothes,” replied the host, noting that his ward was already beginning to shake.

The launch was ran to the nearest land, the rowboat following. As soon as both craft had been made fast the men-folks stepped out. Tom lifted a service-worn telescope bag from under a forward seat, remarking:

“Joe and I carry a few extra things with us, too.”

The Florida men led the way over the bogs, watchfully alert for rattlers or other dangerous snakes. Jeff encountered one young rattler, and killed it with a few well-directed blows of a stick. Out of sight of the boat, Tom and Joe quickly shed their dripping garments, rubbing down and putting on dry clothing.

After waiting a sufficient length of time, Henry Tremaine shouted to his wife, receiving answer that the men might return.

They found Ida Silsbee reclining comfortably at the stern of the boat, wrapped in an overcoat and tucked in with steamer rugs.

“I’m as warm as toast,” she declared. Then, gratefully:

“I hope you boys are as well off.”

“Oh, we are,” Joe nodded. “We’re used to going overboard, or standing in pouring rains. We never go far without a clothes kit.”

The Florida men now devoted their attention to securing the second alligator and adding it to the tow behind the launch.

“Mo’ hunting, Mr. Tremaine?” inquired Jeff, coolly.

“Not to-day,” responded the host, with emphasis. “We’ve had very fair sport, not to speak of a miraculous escape for my ward. We’ve had quite enough excitement. I think the old bungalow at the head of Lake Okeechobee will look very cheery to us when we get there.”

Ida had already made some attempt to thank the young motor boat boys for their gallant conduct. Now, she tried to say much more. Mr. and Mrs. Tremaine and Oliver Dixon now started to overwhelm the boys with their gratitude, but Joe Dawson interposed quietly:

“The least said is soonest mended, you’ve heard, and I guess the same idea applies to thanks. We’re glad we could be useful, but there is no use in making a fuss about us.”

“That’s about right,” smiled Halstead. He turned to take his seat by the steering wheel, then observed the wistful looks of Jeff Randolph.

“I didn’t know, before, Jeff,” remarked the young captain, pleasantly, “that you knew anything about handling motor boats.”

“I won’t claim I do know a heap,” rejoined Jeff, modestly, “but I will say that there’s nothing I enjoy mo’ than taking the wheel of a launch or cabin cruiser.”

“Help yourself, then,” invited Halstead, moving back. “You surely do know more about these black waters than I’ll ever know.”

Jeff’s eyes gleamed with real pleasure as he seated himself at the wheel. He gave the engineer’s signals, and backed the launch out neatly, then headed northward.

“Say, you’ve been on boats a good deal,” remarked Skipper Tom, after watching him.

“Some,” admitted the Florida boy, quietly. “I reckon I’d rather be on a boat than anywhere else in the whole world.”

Jeff remained at the wheel until he had piloted them out of the Everglades and back into Lake Okeechobee. The two dead ’gators were rigged to the stern of the rowboat, in tow, and the small boat’s bow line made fast astern on the launch. In this order the start was made for the forty-mile trip up the lake.

“I’m going to spell you at the wheel a bit, now, Jeff,” said Tom Halstead. “But you can have the wheel again, whenever you want it.”

“That’ll be most all o’ the forty miles ahead of us, then, I reckon,” declared young Randolph.

It was slow work, indeed, getting back, not much more than seven miles per hour being possible. Supper, picnic-style, was served not long after dark. It was nearing the hour of ten when the boat at last rounded slowly in at the pier.

“Let me take her in,” begged Jeff Randolph, who was again at the wheel.

“Go ahead,” nodded Tom Halstead, good-humoredly. “I know you can do it.”

“Jeff,” laughed Henry Tremaine, “you ought to apply for membership in the famous Motor Boat Club of the Kennebec.”

“Wouldn’t I like to belong, though?” sighed the Florida boy.

“Would you?” queried Captain Tom.

“Don’t poke fun at me,” protested young Randolph.

“I’m not poking fun,” rejoined Halstead, soberly. “Did you ever have any experience out on deep water?”

“I’ve been on sailing craft a good deal, and out fo’ two trips on a motor cruiser,” answered the Florida boy, in a low voice.

“How’d you like to come out on the ‘Restless’ for a while?”

“Do yo’ mean it?” asked Jeff, anxiously.

“I certainly do. Still, at the same time, I must warn you that your duties on the ‘Restless’ would be mixed. You’d have to cook, be steward and take an occasional trick at the motors or the wheel.”

“I don’t care what it is,” retorted Jeff, stubbornly, “so long as it’s something on deep salt water, and on a motor boat at that.”

“Make a good landing then,” proposed Tom Halstead, smiling, yet serious, “and we’ll talk it all over on shore.”

Jeff Randolph laid the boat in at the pier without a scratch or a jar, with just enough headway and none to spare. Tom leaped ashore at the bow, Joe at the stern, and the little craft was made fast at her berth.

Ham Mockus was glad enough to see them back. He was hanging about at the land end of the pier. Though the black man’s faith in ghosts had received a severe knock, still, to be all alone about the place after dark – well, it was a bit fearsome, anyway!

“Have any ghosts called, Ham?” laughingly demanded Henry Tremaine, as he caught sight of his black servitor.

“No, sah; no, sah,” admitted the darkey, grinning sheepishly.

“Then the officers must have succeeded in keeping all the members of the ghost safely locked up in jail.”

“Ah reckon so, sah – unless – ”

“Well, unless what?”

“Wy, sah, it jest might be, ob co’se, dat some restless fo’ks done take dem Eberglades trash out an’ hitch ’em to a tree, wid deir feet off en de groun’.”

“Oh, I guess it could not be as bad as that,” smiled Mr. Tremaine.

“What have you been doing all these hours, Ham?” inquired Mrs. Tremaine.

“Wy, Ah done ’low, ob co’se, dat maybe yo’ don’ feel much satisfied wid dat cold food yo’ done had erlong in de bo’t, so Ah’s done got some hot food up at de house – ef yo’ want it.”

“Ham,” cried his employer, enthusiastically, “you’re kind-hearted and proper. Lead us to that hot banquet.”

It was over the table, an hour later, that Mrs. Tremaine asked her husband:

“How many more days do you intend to remain here hunting?”

“Have you ladies had all you want of it?” queried the host, looking at his wife and his ward.

“More than enough for my part,” answered Mrs. Tremaine. Ida Silsbee added that she, personally, did not care to go alligator hunting again.

“You’ll both of you be more contented,” decided Mr. Tremaine, “if we run down to Oyster Bay and hoist anchor for Tampa. Up at Tampa you girls will have a chance to wear your pretty dresses. Jeff, can you start, before ten in the morning, and get the wagons back here to convey us to the coast?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then we’ll leave here to-morrow afternoon,” announced Mr. Tremaine. “We have alligator skins enough, anyway, to answer all purposes, including the making of an alligator leather bag for Halstead’s mother. I’ll have the bag made, Tom – a good, generous and handsome looking one.”

“Captain Halstead,” called out Jeff, following the young skipper away from table and speaking almost ceremoniously.

“You want to talk to me about going on the ‘Restless’?” asked the young sailing master.

“Yes. Yo’ wa’n’t fooling, were yo’?”

“Of course not,” rejoined Tom, heartily.

“And – and – would there evah be any chance fo’ me to get into the Motor Boat Club?”

“We’d be only too glad to have you for a Florida member,” replied young Halstead, “just as soon as you’ve shown that you can handle a boat of our kind.”

Then Halstead and Joe discussed with Jeff his pay in his new position, and the exact nature of his duties.

“I reckon it all seems too good to be true,” sighed Jeff Randolph, but he knew, just the same, that it was no dream, and he was happy.

“Now, I’ve got to keep mighty cool and lull any suspicions Dixon may have,” muttered Halstead to himself. “Of course he knows I received that letter from Clayton Randolph. Perhaps, until we get back to Oyster Bay, I can make Dixon feel that I don’t believe any such thing possible of him. Once we get there, and Clayton Randolph backs up what he wrote me, I’ll take the whole thing to Mr. Tremaine. Then, Dixon, if you are as big a scoundrel as I think you, your time will have come to pay back and take your medicine!”

CHAPTER XIX

A TRUCE, UNTIL —

“SO yo’ are Cap’n Tom Halstead. Yes, I reckon yo’ be,” assented the tall, lanky individual whom Tom and Joe found on the deck of the “Restless.”

These two motor boat boys had put off from shore some time in advance of the rest of the Tremaine party.

It had taken them the better part of two days, by carriage, to make the journey down to Tres Arbores, and Tom and Joe had put off at once, leaving Jeff to come out with the Tremaines, Miss Silsbee and Oliver Dixon.

Tom’s astonishment at meeting this stranger, instead of Officer Randolph, showed in his face.

“I’m Bill Dunlow,” volunteered the lanky stranger, thrusting a hand into one of his pockets. “Yo’ see, it was like this: Clayton Randolph had to go up into the interior after a prisoner – ”

“Oh!”

“So he done put me abo’d this boat. Told me jest what yo’ wanted in the way of a watchman, and he lef’ this note fo’ yo’.”

Tom looked over the note, in which Clayton Randolph informed the young captain of his protracted call to police duty, adding that Bill Dunlow was a “right proper man” to take his place.

“It’s all right,” nodded Tom. “I hope, Mr. Dunlow, you haven’t been too lonely out here on this boat.”

Halstead settled with the stranger, who then went ashore in the boat that was returning for the others of the party.

“What are you scowling at?” demanded Joe Dawson, looking keenly at his chum after the boat had left the side.

“Was I?” asked Tom, brightening. There had been reason enough for his scowl.

“Randolph isn’t here, so I can’t take Mr. Tremaine to him. Confound the luck. Off we go to Tampa, and the mystery of the vanished money isn’t cleared up. I wouldn’t attempt to tell Mr. Tremaine without being backed by Officer Randolph or a letter from him. As for going up to that other town, and getting confirmation from Randolph’s elder son, that would be out of the question. The young man wouldn’t say a word about the express company’s business, unless he had orders from his father. And Randolph is away, heaven alone knowing when he’ll be back here. Oh, I hope Randolph also left a note for Mr. Tremaine. But no such luck!”

No wonder Tom Halstead was agitated as he paced the deck from bow to stern. As long as the mystery of the vanished money remained not cleared up he would never feel easy about the stain that it left clinging to Joe and himself – principally to himself.

The boat was coming out again from shore.

“Everybody in it except Dixon,” discovered Halstead, with a start. “I wonder if that fellow has made an excuse to get away? Has he fled? Yet that doesn’t seem just likely, either, after all the attention he showed Ida Silsbee on the way down from Lake Okeechobee. I guess he figures that, if he can once marry Tremaine’s ward, then, no matter what leaks out, Tremaine will keep silent for Ida Silsbee’s sake.”

The boat was soon alongside.

“One passenger shy,” hailed Halstead, forcing himself to laugh lightly.

“Yes,” nodded Henry Tremaine, indifferently. “Dixon happened to think, at the last moment, to go up to the post office, to see if there was any mail for any of our party. Very thoughtful of the young man. We’ll send the boat ashore for him, and he’ll be out here on the next trip.”

Tom Halstead watched the shore closely enough, after that. However, at last, he had the satisfaction of seeing Oliver Dixon wave his hand from the landing stage, and then embark in the rowboat.

“Any mail, Oliver?” asked Mr. Tremaine, as the young man stepped up over the side.

“Two for you, sir, and one for Mrs. Tremaine,” replied young Dixon, handing over the letters. “None for Miss Silsbee, nor any for the crew.”

“None for me, eh?” asked Captain Tom, his tone pleasant enough, to mask his thoughts. “I hope you had some mail for yourself, Mr. Dixon?”

“A bill and two circulars,” nodded the young man, carelessly enough, though he shot a keen look back to meet Skipper Tom’s inquiring gaze.

“Is there anything to prevent our sailing at once, now, Captain?” asked the charter-man. “I know the ladies are keen to be on their way; to the delights of Tampa.”

“I shall have to hold up a little while,” replied Skipper Tom, pointing to the bridge deck chronometer. “I have discovered that it has been running slow while we were away. In navigation it is a matter of importance to have the chronometer just right to the second. But it ought not to take me long. If there’s a watchmaker in Tres Arbores, he can adjust the chronometer within half an hour. Then I’ll come right back, ready to sail.”

Henry Tremaine nodded. Oliver Dixon had gone below, of which fact the young skipper was glad. It gave him a chance to get ashore before Dixon could offer, on some pretext, to accompany him.

The chronometer that the young skipper took over the side with him actually registered twenty-two minutes behind standard time. Sly Tom! He himself had set the hands back while awaiting the coming of the Tremaine party.

Once on shore the young captain hurried to the post office, where he indited an urgent letter to Clayton Randolph. Tom informed the local officer that he had received the latter’s letter, but that it had disappeared before it could be put to use. Halstead urged Officer Randolph, on his return, to send to the captain of the “Restless,” at the Tampa Bay Hotel, another letter by registered mail.

“If you can enclose any other evidence it will be of the greatest value,” Tom wrote, also, by way of stronger hint.

Into the letter Halstead slipped a ten-dollar bill. After sealing the envelope, he handed it to the postmaster, saying:

“Register this, please. And don’t give it to any other than Clayton Randolph – not even to anyone authorized to receive his mail.”

That business attended to, Tom Halstead paid three bills against the boat, then hurried back to the water front, after having set his precious chronometer back to exactly the right time. Again he took boat out to the yacht, and bounding up on deck, his face was wreathed in smiles.

“Old Chronom. is all right, now,” he called to Henry Tremaine, who was seated in one of the deck chairs, smoking. “Now, we’ll start, sir, just as soon as we can get the anchor up.”

Jeff, who had found time to run home to his mother and inform her of his great luck, lent a strong hand in the preliminaries to starting.

“Do yo’ reckon, Cap’n, yo’d let me pilot the ‘Restless’ out o’ this harbor and some o’ the way down the bay?”

“Go ahead,” smiled Captain Tom, who was feeling unusually contented, at last. “Enjoy yourself all you like, Jeff, until it’s time to go below and turn to preparing the evening meal.”

So Jeff Randolph stood proudly by the wheel as the “Restless” pointed her nose down Oyster Bay, over a smooth sea, on her way to that great Florida winter resort, Tampa.

After their rest the twin motors ran, as Joe phrased it, “as though made of grease.” Everybody aboard appeared to be unusually light-hearted.

“It’s a pleasure to cruise like this,” murmured Henry Tremaine, lighting a fresh cigar.

Jeff, happy over his new vocation, put all his lightest spirits into the preparation of the evening meal. As a guide he had had much experience with cookery. The meal went off delightfully.

Dixon, stepping up the after companionway after dinner, a cigarette between his lips, encountered the young sailing master.

“Good evening,” Tom greeted, pleasantly.

“Oh, good evening,” returned Mr. Dixon, smiling and showing his teeth.

“Did you ever see a pleasanter night than this on the water?” asked Halstead.

“Not many, anyway. I hope the ladies will soon come up to enjoy it.”

“I hope so,” nodded Tom. “Somehow, this sort of a night suggests the need of singing and stringed instruments on deck, doesn’t it?”

He spoke with an affectation of good will that deceived even Oliver Dixon, who, after glancing keenly, at the young captain, suddenly said:

“Halstead, you didn’t seem to like me very well, for a while.”

“If I didn’t,” spoke the young skipper, seriously, “it may have been due to a rather big misunderstanding.”

“Of what kind?” demanded Dixon.

“Well, connected with that miserable affair of the missing money.”

“O – oh,” said Dixon, looking still more keenly at the motor boat skipper.

“I knew,” pursued Tom Halstead, “that I didn’t take the money. For that reason, I suppose, I wondered if you were the one who had taken it? Lately, I have had reason to see how absurd such a suspicion would be.”

“What reason?” demanded Oliver Dixon, his eyes almost blazing into Tom Halstead’s face.

“Why, from Mr. Tremaine I’ve gleaned the idea that you’re so comfortably well off in this world’s goods that taking his few thousands of dollars would be an utter absurdity for you. So the vanishing of that money is back to its old footing of an unexplainable mystery.”

“Did you say anything to Henry Tremaine about your suspicion?” inquired Dixon, looking searchingly at the boy.

“No,” retorted Tom Halstead, curtly. “I had only my suspicion of the moment – no proof. I always try to play fair – and I’m glad I did.”

The companionway door was being opened below. The ladies were ready to come up on deck.

Oliver Dixon held out his hand, as though by strong impulse.

“Halstead, you’re a brick!” he exclaimed. “You’re the right sort of young fellow. I don’t mind your first suspicion, since you realize how groundless it was. We shall be better friends, after this. Your hand!”

Tom took the proffered hand – not too limply, either.

“I hope I’ve lulled the fellow’s suspicion until I can strike,” thought the young sailing master.

While Oliver Dixon said hurriedly to himself:

“This fellow was dangerous, but now I begin to think he’s a fool. If I can keep him lulled for a few days more I may have all my lines laid. Then I can laugh at him – or pay someone to beat him properly!”

Diplomatic Tom! Crafty Dixon!

The ladies had come on deck.

CHAPTER XX

AN INNOCENT EAVESDROPPER

DOWN at Port Tampa, out in the bay, lay the “Restless” at anchor.

Jeff Randolph was aboard the yacht, in sole charge. That Florida boy couldn’t have been coaxed on shore, no matter what the allurement offered. He was supremely happy in the realization of his great ambition.

For four days, now, the Tremaines and their friends, including Captain Halstead and Engineer Dawson, had been at the big, luxurious Tampa Bay Hotel, at Tampa proper, nine miles up from the port.