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

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.

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.