A NEW EXPEDITION PLANNED.
The boys went up to the hotel, where they found the colonel sitting
behind his desk.
Phil was generally expected to do the talking for the party whenever
anything important was to be said, and he, therefore, with very little
preface or hesitation, informed the big man in the chair of the
condition in which he and his friends now found themselves in regard to
finances.
The colonel listened to what Phil told him, and then, after looking at
them all with a steady glance, he said:
“Got no money, hey?”
The boys wished he would not speak so loud and clear, for there were
several persons in the room, and Phœnix answered,--
“We’ve got some, but not enough.”
“How much have you got?” asked the colonel.
The treasurer then explained that, owing to their having been very long
on the way, and also having to pay more for boat-hire, food, etc., than
they had expected, and to hire Indians, they had only about seventeen
dollars left. They had hoped to have enough to take them to Enterprise
or Sanford, where Adam thought that some of the steamboat captains
would take them on board, and let them pay for their passage when they
got to Jacksonville.
“I don’t believe they’d do it,” said the colonel. “They’re too sharp
for that sort of thing. You haven’t enough to pay your way from here
anywhere, or to stay here. Are you sure of money when you get to
Jacksonville?”
“Oh, yes,” said Phil, promptly. “If that telegram was sent on I expect
there are funds waiting there for us now, and if there isn’t, or if
there shouldn’t be enough, we’ll telegraph, and they’ll send us all we
need.”
The colonel rubbed his head.
“Well,” said he, “you can stay here till Wednesday, all four of you,
for I suppose you still count Adam Guy in your party, and I’ll make out
your bill at my regular rates, and I’ll make it out to you,” pointing
to Phil; “and when you get home--you needn’t do it before--you can send
me the amount.”
The boys all looked relieved, and each one thanked the colonel
heartily.
“That’s all right,” said he. “You’re not the handsomest fellows I ever
see, but you look honest.”
A slight shade of anxiety now returned to Phœnix’s face.
“How much will it cost, sir,” he said, “to go from here to Enterprise?”
“I charge you a dollar apiece,” said the colonel, “to carry you
over to Salt Lake. That’s seven miles away, and it’s where you take
the steamboat. Then the fare is six dollars apiece to Enterprise or
Sanford.”
“Squelched again!” said Chap.
The colonel looked at him with a half smile.
“A fellow with legs like yours,” he said, “ought to be able to walk it.
The soft spots you’d have to pass over ain’t more’n a yard deep.”
“Oh, _I_ could walk it easy enough,” said Chap; “but I couldn’t carry
three short-legged fellows. That’s where the trouble comes in.”
“Well, then, I guess I won’t make you do it,” said the colonel. “Let
me see,” taking a pencil and a piece of paper; “four ones is four, and
four sixes is twenty-four, and then four more sixes, from Sanford to
Jacksonville, is twenty-four more, and then a couple of dollars for
extras--none of you fellows drink, do you?”
“Not one of us,” promptly replied Chap.
“I thought as much,” said the colonel, “and that comes to fifty-four
dollars. Take seventeen from that, and it leaves thirty-seven. That’s
the amount you are short, and, to make it even, we’ll call it forty.
Now, if one of you fellows will make out a note to me for forty
dollars, payable in thirty days, and the other two will indorse it,
I’ll let you have the money.”
This unexpected offer almost stupefied the boys, and they could
scarcely find words with which to express their gratitude.
“Oh, it’ll be all right enough,” said the colonel. “I know that all of
you or one of you will pay me the money, or I’ll make it hot for you,
no matter what part of the country you’re in. When a man owes me money,
he pays it.”
“But none of us are of age,” suggested Phil. “Perhaps our
signatures----”
“Don’t talk to me of age,” roared the colonel. “If I lend you the
money, you’ll pay it back to me. There’ll be no getting out of that.
I won’t charge you any interest. It’ll be cheaper for me to let that
money go for awhile without bringing in anything than to keep you
fellows here eating at the rate of four dollars a day a head.”
When Adam was told of the arrangement which had been made between the
colonel and the boys, he smiled.
“You might travel a long ways,” he said, “before you’d come across
such another man as the colonel. If you treat him square and he likes
you, he’s ready at any time to give you a friendly h’ist; but if you
get him down on you, you’ll wish you’d never been born. Nobody need
think that because the colonel is sittin’ in that chair all day and
can’t never walk a step out of it that he needn’t be afraid of him.
When I was down here afore, he used to have something to do with the
revenue service, and if he’d hear of any smugglers tryin’ to get into
the country across this river with cigars or anything else, he’d have
his chair rolled in no time aboard the boat he used to sail in, and
he put after them fellers, and I can tell you what it is, there’s no
man that ever put in along this coast with smuggled goods would want
to see the colonel comin’ after him, with his rifle in his hands, and
that black eye of his a-flashin’ out about a mile ahead. He always was
an ugly customer to run afoul of, and he’s jist as bad now as ever,
if things go crooked. I ain’t surprised a bit at what he did for you
fellers. It’s jist like him.”
The next day was Sunday, and the boys looked so bright and fresh, with
their well-blackened boots and their clean white shirts and collars,
that they felt quite fit to mingle in general society.
They would have gone to church, but were prevented from so doing by the
fact that the town did not yet contain a church.
On Monday morning, after breakfast, the three boys were sitting in a
small summer-house, which was built at the end of the pier belonging to
the hotel.
A little way out in the river, The Rolling Stone was moored, and there
were other boats anchored here and there in the river.
A party of sportsmen who had been at the hotel had already started on a
trip down the river, and the white sails of their little yacht could be
seen several miles away over the blue and sparkling water.
The river here was very broad, it being six miles across to the wide,
low island which separated it from the sea, but for a long way out
from the shore it was very shallow, and a party of boys with rolled-up
trousers, waded out with their cast-nets to a distance which very much
astonished our friends upon the pier.
“Well, I tell you what it is!” cried Chap; “we’ve got to do something,
or go somewhere. We won’t leave this town till Wednesday, and that
gives us two clear days, and we don’t want to waste them. Now, the
point is, what is there to do that we can get the most fun out of?”
“I suppose Adam might put us up to something,” said Phœnix, “but he’s
gone to work to help a man down there who is building a boat. He said
he might as well make some money while he is here as not.”
“Well, then we’ll go ask some one else,” said Chap. “We’re bound to do
something.”
At this moment a slow step was heard on the pier, and Mr. Brewer’s
brother directly joined the group.
“Hello!” cried Chap. “I thought you would have been off for home long
ago.”
“No,” said the other, languidly, taking a seat; “I ain’t in no hurry. I
reckon I’ll start after awhile, some time. You fellers have got to wait
here for the Winkyminky.”
“What’s that?” asked Phil.
“That’s the boat you’re goin’ in on Wednesday,” said Brewer’s brother.
“She’s a good little boat--Cap’n Root’s boat.”
“I suppose that’s the one,” said Chap; “and we were just talking about
what we should do while we were waiting for her. Can’t you give us an
idea? Would it pay to get a boat, and go out after ducks?”
“No,” said the other; “that ain’t much fun, and they ain’t good eatin’.
If I was you fellers, I’d go up to Lowper’s Creek, and shoot ’gators.”
“Shoot alligators!” cried Chap. “That’s splendid! Where is that creek?”
“It’s about ten or twelve miles above here,” said Brewer’s brother,
“and it’s jist chock full o’ ’gators. You never see so many in all your
born days. You kin hire a rifle at the hotel, and you kin git all the
teeth and hides you want.”
The boys considered this a glorious idea.
“But how will we get there?” asked Phil. “We might hire a boat, but
Adam is busy, and couldn’t sail us.”
“I’ll take you up in that boat,” said Brewer, “and I kin sail you
jist as well as Adam Guy. I won’t charge you nothin’, and I’ll borrow
a little dinky, and tow it behind. We have to go up the creek in a
row-boat when we begin to hunt ’em.”
All this promised great sport for the boys, and no time was lost in
making the necessary arrangements.
It was planned that they should start as soon as possible, take some
provisions along, stay up at the creek all night, and come back the
next day.
When Adam heard of the scheme he at first looked a little doubtful, but
then he smiled and said he reckoned the thing might work.
“But you’ll have a gay time,” he added, “goin’ after ’gators with Coot
Brewer.”
“Coot?” asked Chap.
“Yes,” said Adam; “that’s the name he goes by along this river. I
reckon he got it because he isn’t good for much. But he ought to know
how to sail a boat, and if you keep a sharp eye on him I guess he won’t
hender you much. I’d go along, but I can’t back out of this job now.”
[Illustration]