Bobby Blake on a Plantation: or, Lost in the Great Swamp

“You’d better be keerful, young feller,” he snarled, as the buggies came close, “there’s a law in the land for them as uses hard words.”

“Yes, and there’s a law for people who try to steal what doesn’t belong to them, too,” retorted Lee. “Pull out there and let us pass, please.”

CHAPTER XVII

THE RUNAWAY HORSE

“Pull out yourselves, consarn ye!” shouted Jim Boolus, his face purple with rage. Then, seeing that Lee made no move, he suddenly snatched his whip from its socket, and made a savage cut at Lee’s horse.

Old Jerry reared and would have bolted forward, had not Lee held him quiet with all the strength he possessed. Bobby was infuriated by Boolus’ cruel action, and in a second he was out of the buggy and was leading the old miser’s horse off the road. With a yelp of rage Boolus made a cut at him with his whip, but Bobby dodged just in time, and the stinging lash landed on Boolus’ horse instead. The unfortunate animal, already greatly excited by the altercation, gave a leap to one side, cramping the front wheels against the buggy. The light rig careened over, and then, as the horse started forward at top speed, it turned over completely, rolling Boolus out into the deep sand at the roadside. The frightened horse dragged the overturned buggy a short distance, but then his harness broke, and he streaked down the road in a cloud of dust and sand, leaving the wrecked buggy lying on its side.

Jim Boolus staggered to his feet and gazed after his fast disappearing horse for an instant, then turned toward the boys. For a moment they were bewildered at the sudden development of events, but when they saw that Boolus was unhurt the comic side of it struck them both at the same time, and they shouted with laughter. But their discomfitted enemy failed to see any humor in the situation.

“I’ll sue ye for this, see if I don’t!” he yelled, dancing about in his rage. “You’ll pay for that buggy, or I’ll know the reason why.”

“I don’t see where I come in,” said Lee. “You hit your own horse and he ran away. Both of us saw you do it, and we could swear to it in court. You don’t suppose any one around here would believe you if you tried to tell them anything else, do you?”

Boolus glared at the boys, but the truth of what Lee said was so evident that he could think of no suitable retort.

“And now,” continued Lee, “I and my friend here wish you a very pleasant walk to wherever it is you were going,” and with these words he spoke to Jerry, who started off. As they looked back the boys could see the old skinflint still standing in the road shaking his fists at them, until a sudden turn hid him from view.

“Well, that’s one time Mr. Jim Boolus got the worst of it,” said Bobby, wiping the tears of mirth from his eyes. “The look on his face as he picked himself out of that sand heap was worth going a long way to see.”

“It surely was,” agreed Lee, “but I’m rather sorry it happened just the same. He’ll hate us worse than ever now, and he won’t stop at anything to get even.”

“Well, don’t worry about it,” advised Bobby. “Anyway, he got the worst of it this time, so maybe he will again.”

“Well, I hope so,” said Lee. “He always does the meanest thing he can think of, anyway, so probably this won’t make much difference.”

They reached the village without further adventure. Lee carried out the commission his mother had given him, and they started back immediately.

“We’re late as it is, on account of that ruction with Boolus,” said Lee. “Fred will think we’ve gotten lost, sure.”

“I guess when we tell him what delayed us he won’t mind very much,” said Bobby, with a twinkle in his eye. “He’ll never get over being sorry that he wasn’t with us when it happened.”

They passed the wrecked buggy lying in the same position, but there was no sign of its owner, and the boys concluded that some one had probably come along and given him a lift. When they reached the plantation, they found Fred waiting for them at the gate.

“I thought you would be here an hour ago,” he exclaimed impatiently. “What’s been keeping you?”

“Jump in, and we’ll tell you while we’re going up to the house,” said Lee, and then he and Bobby told him all about their encounter with Boolus. As Bobby had predicted, Fred was greatly disappointed at having missed the adventure.

“But I’ll have to admit you made good use of that extra hour,” he conceded. “I was getting mad as a hornet when you didn’t show up on time, because I’ve got the motor boat all provisioned and ready to start. And it’s a peach of a boat, too,” he added.

“Well, that’s the kind we want,” said Bobby. “I’m all ready to start at a moment’s notice.”

“We’ll have to go to the house first,” said Lee, “but that won’t take us long.”

To save time, Lee told Mose to go to the boat landing and wait for them there, so that he could take the horse and buggy back when they got there.

“We Southerners just hate to walk when we can ride,” he explained. “Besides, it will save time.”

Mrs. Cartier insisted that they have lunch, although if left to themselves the boys would have preferred to start their trip and eat in the boat. They told her about the encounter with Jim Boolus, and when they saw how anxious she became they felt sorry for the first time that it had happened. However, there was nothing to be done about it, and after a hasty meal they said good-by to her, jumped into the buggy, and in a short time were at the tiny boathouse.

This was situated in a small creek or inlet, and was built right over the water, so that one had only to open the doors and guide the boat out. The boat itself was a staunch little twenty-foot craft with a dependable two-cylinder motor to drive it, and Fred had seen to it that Mose should have the brass work shining. The negro had been far from enthusiastic over this job.

“Whut’s de use to scrub up all dat brass,” he had argued, “when it won’t be no time at all before de mist from de ribber has it green ag’in. Seems t’me it would be more sensible like to spend de time restin’ out in de nice warm sun.”

“You might as well say it’s no use eating because you’ll only get hungry again,” Fred had told him. “I’ll bet you don’t believe that though, do you?”

“Nossuh,” said Mose, with a broad grin, “dat’s a diff’rent breed o’ cats, suh.”

Apparently convinced by Fred’s argument, he had fallen to with a will, with such good results that the motor boat now looked spick and span enough to go in some water festival.

“It sho looks nifty,” admitted Mose, “but mah elbow aches yet when Ah reflects how hard Ah had to dig befo’ Ah got it dat way.”

“Never mind,” said Lee, as he gave the flywheel a twist that set the motor to chugging in a business-like manner. “When we come back we’ll bring you some swamp chickens for supper, Mose.”

“Whut’s dem swamp chickums?” inquired the negro. “Cain’t seem to rec’lect no sech fowl no-how.”

“Oh, certainly,” said Lee, with every appearance of conviction. “They have black combs, red tail feathers, and blue eyes. You must have seen one, haven’t you?”

“Nossuh, an’ whut’s more, Ah don’ believe dey never was no sech a kind of a chickum,” said Mose.

“All right, then, just you wait till we bring you one back,” said Lee, and guided the boat out into the sluggish river, leaving Mose scratching his woolly head on the bank.

The river was perhaps a hundred feet wide at this point, and flowed so slowly that it was hard to believe that there was any current at all. The banks were covered with trees that grew right down to the water’s edge at this point, but as the little craft chugged its way upstream, the trees gave way to high, rank grass, with here and there a lofty cypress tree shooting up out of the rank vegetation.

“We’re on the edge of the swamp country now,” explained Lee. “In another hour we’ll be right in the heart of it.”

CHAPTER XVIII

A SCOUNDREL’S TRICK

“What’s the chance of catching some fish?” inquired Bobby. “There’s nothing better than fresh caught fish grilled over a wood fire.”

“There are plenty of fish if you have the luck to catch them,” said Lee. “They generally eat the bait off my hook, and then go away laughing at me.”

“Huh, I never saw a fish laugh, myself,” said Fred; “it must be very interesting.”

“Oh, it is,” Lee gravely assured him. “We’ll just land at a good place I know of, and maybe you can have a demonstration.”

They chugged on a little further, and then Lee gave the wheel a twist and headed for a high green bank that rose above the general level of the flat swamp country. When about two hundred feet away he shut off the motor, and the boat glided gently on with its momentum and grounded easily on the muddy bank.

“Here we are,” said the Southern youth. “Get out your fishing lines, and we’ll see what we can do.”

It did not take the boys long to rig up their tackle, and then Lee jumped ashore, followed by Bobby and Fred. Together they pulled the bow of the boat up onto the bank, and then cast their bait.

“Now to hear the laughing fish,” said Fred. “Do they laugh very loud, Lee?”