Motor Boat Boys Down the Coast; or, Through Storm and Stress to Florida

"Why not; I've heard that even fishy ducks can be eaten, if you take the trouble to draw the feathers and skin off together?" Nick declared.

"Which is correct, all right, as far as it goes," Jack continued, placidly; "but I'd defy even such an expert as Josh here, to cook those ducks so as to disguise the woody flavor!"

"Haw! haw! haw! Jack means they're only a bunch of wooden decoys – stool ducks!" roared Josh, some of the others echoing his merriment. "Perhaps you c'n digest pretty near anything, you're such a walking cemetery, Nick; but I bet you draw the line at a wooden duck, hey?"

Nick relapsed into silence, but George took up the talk.

"Ain't this early in October for duck hunting, Jack? Some of the States don't allow it till November, you know," he inquired, seeking information.

"Yes; and perhaps this fellow is only giving his stools an airing, after all, to see how they float; because the main raft of ducks won't be here till later."

During the day they landed at one or two docks, where the customary groups of staring natives surrounded them, asking questions, examining the clever little craft beside which their own looked cumbersome, though sea-worthy, and giving such a sad mixture of information that in the end Jack was glad he had his reliable charts to fall back on, since one man's account seemed to be exactly contradictory in comparison with the next one.

The boys believed that it would be wise to halt for the night away from any of the settlements along the sound or bay. Perhaps these rough looking fellows might be all right, and just as honest as they make them; but previous experiences had warned Jack and his chums that there are always some bad characters belonging in every isolated town and hamlet; and there was no use tempting such rascals more than seemed necessary.

Accordingly, when the afternoon drew near its end, they began to cast about for a camping place. To the delight of Nick they had been able to pick up a duck here and there, until there were now four on board.

"If we could only get a brace more," he kept saying; "or even one might do, as Josh eats so little; how nice it would be. Jack, don't you suppose, now, you might creep up behind that island yonder, drop ashore, since the law forbids one to shoot ducks from a craft driven by sails or any motive power except a fellow's muscles, and get a shot into the lovely little bunch that is sporting there?"

"Anything to oblige," was the response;

and with that the head of the Tramp was turned aside, so that the skipper could presently jump ashore.

His crawl across the reedy island was not as pleasant as one might wish; but when he fired both barrels at the rising flock, Nick nearly laughed himself sick to see not only two, but five birds fall with as many splashes into the water.

One wounded duck managed to get away. Jack declared it must have dived, and held on to some of the eel grass at the bottom, preferring death to falling into the hands of duck-eating human beings; for this often happens, as every hunter knows.

Again an oven was to be made, and they hoped to have a feast for the next day.

"What's to hinder our sleeping on shore tonight, fellows?" asked Josh, as they found a pretty good place for a camp.

"Oh! please do!" cried poor, tortured Nick; "I'd love to rest comfy for just once again."

"Huh!" grunted stubborn George, "that suits me first rate, because I insist on keeping to my quarters aboard, and there'll be plenty of room. Besides, I won't wake up every little while when you roll over, thinking the boat is going to turn turtle."

Upon being put to a vote, five of them were in favor of trying it. So about the time they began to feel sleepy, blankets were brought from the boats, and each fellow started to make himself as comfortable as possible under the circumstances.

Jack had selected his sleeping place with an eye to its convenience; also the fact that by raising himself on his elbow he could have a survey of the entire camp, counting the three boats. And it might have been noticed that both he and Herb made sure to take their guns to bed with them, a fact Nick saw with a bit of uneasiness.

The Tramp and the Comfort were both fastened up, for it was possible to lock their cabins in an emergency. George was under his canvas shelter, trying to make himself believe he fully enjoyed the sensation of loneliness.

Finally a silence came over the camp on the shore. The fire died down gradually, for no one bothered to keep it going, the night being anything but cold.

Jack was always a light sleeper. He had trained himself to awaken if there was anything unusual going on. And when he suddenly opened his eyes, seeing the stars over his head, he knew instinctively that it was not far from daybreak. He also had a sort of intuition that there was some one or something moving close by.

And so, Jack, reaching out and securing his gun, began to softly raise his head, hoping that the starlight would be strong enough to let him see what was going on. What discovery he made gave him something of a little shock.

CHAPTER IX.

THE DESPERATION OF HUNGER

The night was still. Only the soft wash of the tiny waves on the shore came to the ears of the Tramp's skipper as he thus raised his head to take an observation.

First he looked in the direction of the three motor boats, and in particular the one on board of which George was sleeping. Perhaps he had a slight suspicion to the effect that some movement on the part of this chum had caused the scuffling sounds.

His search for an explanation in this quarter proved to be a failure. He could plainly see the tan-colored canvas tent which covered the speed boat; but it seemed to be perfectly motionless.

Just then Jack sniffed the air two or three times. Come, that was surely a most delightful odor that seemed to be wafted in his quarter. Had Nick, for instance, been alongside, and wide-awake, he would have immediately declared that it reminded him of roast duck!

By the way, they did have a full half dozen waders in the process of baking in that crude earthen oven. Jack shot a quick glance over in the direction where he and Nick had built the receptacle.

What could that dark object be? Even as he looked he surely saw it move. Yes, a second and more positive examination convinced him of this fact. Then there was danger of the expected breakfast being carried off while they slept.

Was it some prowling bear that had followed the scent, and dug out the cooked fowls? The bulk of the figure assured him that it could be no ordinary raccoon, or even a cunning fox.

Would he be justified in shooting? At that short distance Jack realized that he could riddle the object sadly; for the charge of shot, having no chance to spread, would go with all the destructive power of a bullet.

His finger was on the trigger, but he wisely refrained. Perhaps after all this night intruder might not prove to be a bear, nor yet any other wild beast. Roast duck may appeal just as strongly to the human family. If any prowler had seen them bury the ducks on the preceding evening, might he not have waited patiently until this hour, just before the dawn, in order to allow the fowls to cook?

Was that a grunt of satisfaction he now caught? It certainly sounded very much along that order. Evidently the transgressor and thief must have finally succeeded in accomplishing his burrowing, judging from that decided aroma that was scattering about the vicinity. Even then he might be trying to gather up the spoils, loth to let a single duck escape his bold foray.

Well, Jack believed he ought to have something to say about that. He had gone to considerable trouble to collect half a dozen ducks; and, besides, it took more or less time to build that same oven and prepare the game for the receptacle. They were not in the feeding line, either. If a poor hungry wayfarer chose to approach them the right way, and appeal for help, he would find that generous hearts beat in the bosoms of these good-natured lads. But a thief who came crawling into camp when they were asleep, and tried to make a clean sweep of their expected breakfast, did not appeal to Jack at all.

"Hello! there, my friend; if you start to run, I'm going to fill you full of shot; so don't you dare try it!" Jack suddenly remarked, in a clear voice.

Up bobbed other heads near by, as these words awoke some of the sleepers.

"Keep still, boys, and don't get in my way," said Jack, calmly. "I've got a thief covered, and expect to bring him down if he so much as takes one jump. Easy now, Herb; keep your gun ready, and don't shoot until I say so."

For all he talked so threateningly, of course Jack would have done no such thing had the fellow bolted. Better lose a thousand ducks than have cause to regret hasty action. But it seemed that his bold words had the effect he wanted; for the shadowy figure continued to hug the ground in the spot where the oven lay.

"Don't yuh shoot me, Mistah!" a quavering voice now broke out; and immediately they understood that the intended spoiler of their breakfast must be a negro. "I ain't 'tendin' tuh run away, 'deed I ain't, sah. I gives mahself up. I ain't eben gut a knife 'long with me!"

"Josh!" said Jack, quietly.

"Yes, I'm on deck, all right; what is it?" replied the tall boy, close by.

"You fixed some stuff for starting a fire in a hurry, didn't you?" continued Jack.

"Sure I did; and it's right here beside me," Josh hastened to reply.

"Then strike a match, and let's have some light. We'll look this coon over, and see whether we want to take him down to Franklin City with us tomorrow, or give him some grub and let him go scot free."

Jack was looked upon as a leader by his chums, and when he received these instructions Josh never hesitated a second about starting to carry them out to the letter.

Scratch went his match, which he always kept handy, being the recognized chef of the expedition. Then the light wood flamed up, communicated with other stuff, and in a "jiffy," as Josh called it, the scene was illuminated.

Meanwhile Jack had climbed out from among the folds of his blanket, always keeping his shotgun leveled in the direction of the crouching figure of the detected marauder of their stores.