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

For some moments Joe ran through the pages of the code book. Then he selected the signal flags, while Jeff Randolph fastened them to a halyard in the proper order.

“All complete,” announced Joe. “Hoist away.”

Up went the line of bunting, breaking out gracefully. There was just enough breeze to spread the signals clearly.

“Let the cap’n of the ‘Buzzard’ pass that by if he thinks best,” muttered one of the Tampa officers, dryly.

“He could declare, afterwards, that he didn’t observe our signal,” Tom Halstead remarked, thoughtfully.

“He could, suh, sutt’nly, but we wouldn’t believe him.”

Though the other motor boat was still well in the lead, it was not gaining in relative distance, but rather slowly losing. No one showed aft on the “Buzzard,” and no heed was paid to the signal fluttering from the signal mast of the “Restless.”

“We’ve simply got to keep this up until we run within hail,” muttered Tremaine.

“Too bad we’re not a revenue cutter,” sighed Skipper Tom.

“What, then?”

“We’d have a bow-gun, and could fire a shot past the ‘Buzzard.’”

“Yo’ get us a good bit nearer, Cap’n, an’ maybe we can fire a shot past her, anyway,” spoke up one of the Tampa policemen.

“Eh?” asked Tom.

“We’ve noticed, suh, that yo’ have rifles on bo’d. Nothin’ to stop us from sending a bullet by the other craft, only we’ve got to be mighty careful, suh, not to hit anyone on the ‘Buzzard.’”

“We’ll have you, in thirty minutes, I guess, where you can use a rifle,” chuckled the young motor boat captain.

After twenty minutes the officer who had proposed the use of the rifle went below for one of the weapons. Armed with this, he first inspected the magazine, then stood well forward on the bridge deck at the port side. Presently, after judging his distance, the officer raised the rifle, sighted carefully, and fired.

Over the deck-house of the “Buzzard” a man’s head and shoulders were visible, as he stood, facing the bow, at the steering wheel.

An instant after the red flash leaped from the muzzle of the rifle this steersman on the other craft “ducked” suddenly, crouching for a few seconds before he ventured to rise.

“He shuah heard the bullet whistle by him,” chuckled the other policeman.

“I must have shot proper close,” remarked the marksman. “I don’t mean to hit anybody, either.”

After two or three minutes the man with the rifle fired again.

This time the man at the “Buzzard’s” wheel did not dodge. Instead, he half turned, looking swiftly astern.

“Too – oo – oot!” sounded his whistle. Next, the “Buzzard’s” speed slowed down, after which the craft swung around.

“He gives it up!” shouted Tom Halstead, gleefully.

Yet the next instant Tom and the others on the deck of the “Restless” cried out in horror.

Oliver Dixon had suddenly sprung up the after companionway of the “Buzzard.” In his right hand the young man clutched a revolver. He waved his left hand to the oncoming pursuers, after which he raised the weapon to his temple.

CHAPTER XXIV

CONCLUSION

“THE coward!” burst from Henry Tremaine’s lips. Then, springing toward his wife and Ida Silsbee, he cried, hoarsely:

“Look away! Turn your backs!”

“It’s all right, I guess,” came from Tom Halstead, a few moments later.

For the man who had been at the “Buzzard’s” helm had darted swiftly aft, leaped upon Oliver Dixon from behind, and borne him to the deck.

Just an instant later a glistening object was seen to whirl through the air and drop into the sea.

“It’s all right, now,” called Captain Tom Halstead. “They’re fighting all over the deck, but Dixon is no match for the other fellow.”

The “Restless” continued to cover the intervening distance at good speed. After a while the “Buzzard’s” helmsman was seen to yank Oliver Dixon to his feet and thrust him down, the companionway into the cabin.

“You take the wheel, now, Jeff,” directed Halstead, reaching out for the megaphone.

In a few minutes they were running alongside the other craft.

“‘Buzzard,’ ahoy!” hailed Tom Halstead.

“‘Restless,’ ahoy!” came the answer after some hesitation on the part of the “Buzzard.” “Have you been pursuing us?”

“Think of something else to ask,” retorted Skipper Tom, sarcastically.

“Have you any legal right to take our passenger from us?”

“You’re in Florida waters, and we have Florida peace officers on board, who seek a thief,” Halstead responded. “The water’s smooth enough; shall we run alongside of you, instead of lowering a boat?”

“Yes, if you can do it without scratching our paint,” came the assent from the “Buzzard.”

“Do you take us for lubbers, after winning such a stiff race from you?” retorted Captain Halstead, ironically. “Look out, then. We’re going to range up alongside and board you.”

Jeff sped along the port rail, throwing over the fenders. Then the two motor craft bumped gently together. A deck-hand appeared on the other craft.

“Throw us your bow line, and take our stern line,” requested the young motor boat captain.

These lines, fore and aft, were soon secured. Then the two Tampa policemen crossed to the other boat, followed by Henry Tremaine. Tom and Joe brought up the rear, leaving Jeff Randolph on the bridge deck of the “Restless.”

“Your man is locked in the cabin,” announced the skipper of the “Buzzard,” a man of fifty. “I’ll unlock the door for you.”

“When this had been done the two Tampa policeman descended first.

“You’re our prisoner, Dixon,” declared one of the officers.