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

“I guess I can place these chaps without the aid of a directory,” thought the motor boat captain savagely. “When white men mix with negroes, in Florida, they’re a pretty poor sort of white men. This whole gang must belong to the class of fugitives from the law that flee to the Everglades when they can get ahead of the police officers. They’re a desperate gang, out for any kind of plunder, stopping at few crimes.”

Not a little had young Halstead read of these outlaws of the Everglades. Since reaching Florida he had heard much more of them. In these vast, desolate stretches of swamp land there are a multitude of trackless ways. Once a criminal, fleeing from justice, gets two or three miles into the Everglades, he is almost certain to remain a free man as long as he stays there. In all these vast reaches of swamp and dark waters, with every advantage in favor of the hiding criminal, the officer of the law, if he pursues, has a very little chance of ever finding his quarry.

Florida police officers are not cowards. The men of Florida are brave. Yet officers have been known to pursue fugitive criminals into the Everglades and never come out again. Those who do get out alive often have a tale to tell of days or weeks of patient search through the gloomy, swampy fastnesses without ever once having caught sight of the men they sought.

When a criminal in southern Florida escapes with his booty, and is seen no more, the officers are wont to shake their heads and say:

“He has hiked it into the Everglades.”

“Which is as good as saying that the criminal is where he can’t be found or tracked, and that he is safe from the law unless he should take it into his head to come out once more into the communities. Nor is it necessary for these men to return to the haunts of civilization, unless they wish to do so. Crops may be raised in these hidden fastnesses, and wild animals may be shot for meat and clothing. Yet it is the nature of mankind to yearn for a return to old haunts. So every now and then a fugitive from the Everglades is caught, though rarely or never in the Everglades themselves.

“A nice crowd I’m with, and a fine chance I’ve got ever to get back to my friends!” was the thought that rushed, with swift alarm, through Tom Halstead’s brain. “And it was plain they did want me. They were looking for me, more than for anyone else. But why?”

The more Halstead racked his brain for the answer the more puzzled he became.

“Of course, Oliver Dixon might want me out of the way; undoubtedly he does. Yet he had no acquaintance with these ruffians. Dixon is as much of a stranger to this section as any of the rest of us.”

Then, at last, came the stunning thought:

“Jupiter! Dixon claims he met something that looked like a ghost! Was that all a lie? Did he go alone into the woods, and call so convincingly that he brought some of these scoundrels to him? Did he pay them to take me away? Were his story and his wild shots, his scared looks and his wild talk all parts of a monstrous lie?”

Tom Halstead throbbed with agony as he became more and more sure in his own mind that he had solved the mystery of his abduction by these wretches of the Everglades.

If he had not solved the puzzle correctly, then he could think of no other explanation that seemed at all plausible.

“And I determined to investigate Dixon’s story for myself, and went right out into the forest – right out into the very trap set for me!” muttered the young motor boat skipper, trembling with rage and disgust. “Oh, what an impulsive, hot-headed fool I was! How Oliver Dixon will shake with inward laughter at finding me just the idiot he expected me to be!”

So utterly angry was he with himself that Halstead did himself injustice. It is doubtful if Dixon was clever enough to have planned it all just as it had happened. It had been a chance – a lucky one for Dixon – that had placed Tom Halstead in this terrible situation.

As the boat swept along under increased speed the four men regaled themselves on food that they drew from their various pockets. Halstead felt a ravenous gnawing under his belt, but none of his captors offered him anything to eat.

“There ain’t grub enough to throw any of it away, younker,” observed the leader, as he swept the last crumbs into his own mouth. “But I reckon maybe yo’ would like some use or yo’ mouth. Jabe, take that packing out from between the younker’s teeth.”

This service the negro performed, rather roughly, it is true. But at last Tom Halstead could take a really deep breath; he could talk, if he so desired; but he was in no mood to do that.

The young skipper knew that the boat was now traveling rapidly, though he could not see above the gunwale of the craft. From the actions of these Everglades ruffians, however, the boy knew that they did not sight any other boats. Thus the forenoon wore along until, at last, the leader, whom the others addressed as “Sim,” remarked:

“Jabe, yo’ may as well let the younker set up on a seat, now. He-un won’t try to jump ovahbo’d. If he-un does, so much the easier fo’ us.”

“Let him have his hands?” inquired the bulky negro.

“Yep; might jest as well.”

So the bonds were removed from the young skipper’s wrists. He accepted this favor in sullen silence, then raised himself to one of the seats.

“Thought yo’ might like to see the country yo’ are goin’ into,” vouchsafed Sim, with a grin.

As Tom Halstead glanced about him he saw that Lake Okeechobee was behind them. The boat was now running along, at a speed reduced to some six miles an hour, on a gloomy-looking lagoon not more than forty feet wide. Just ahead of them were great, gaunt cypress trees, laden with hanging moss, that almost met over the water.

“We don’ brag none erbout the scen’ry heah,” observed Sim, “but it’s a good, safe country in the Evahglades. Plenty o’ snakes an’ ’gators heah, but we-uns is used to ’em. Evah eat a ’gator steak?”

“No,” answered Halstead, shortly.

“Likely ernuff yo’ will, in the months to come,” asserted Sim. “An’ it’s a powahful good rifle yo’ brought to us. We-uns was out o’ cartridges but now we done got some ’at will fix ’gators all right.”

A mile further on they came to broader waters, a sort of swamp lake that was at least a quarter of a mile wide. Through the windings of this body they traversed for three or four miles, the water at last narrowing, until the waterway was barely more than wide enough or deep enough to allow the handling of the boat. Yet Sim managed it remarkably well.

“I reckon this yere boat is goin’ to be powahful handy to us, after this,” the leader laughed. “We-uns sho’ly can get away fast ef anyone tries to chase us ’cross Okeechobee.”

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?”