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

“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.