THE ISLAND WHERE THERE WERE NO ALLIGATORS
IT was four days later.
Late the previous afternoon the party, traveling in two wagons, had
reached Henry Tremaine’s Florida place at the head of Lake Okeechobee,
an inland body of water, forty miles long and thirty broad, which lay
at the northern extremity of the famous Florida Everglades.
The Everglades is a name given to a broad section of country whose
duplicate cannot be found elsewhere in the world. It is a huge swamp
district, dotted thickly with islands ranging in size from half an acre
to islands many hundreds of acres in extent.
The Indians called this the “Grass Water” country. In the summer, or
rainy season, the Everglades are practically impassable.
In some parts of the Everglades the water does not, in the dry, or
winter season, exceed a foot in depth. In other places the water has a
depth of six feet or more.
Yet, in this section, on the islands, some excellent crops may be
raised, so that the country is by no means a hopeless waste. But the
inhabitants have some things to dread. Rattlers and other poisonous
snakes are frequently encountered in the Everglades. Watchfulness must
be constantly exercised.
Curiously enough, many Northerners resort to the Everglades in winter.
This is on account of the alligator shooting to be found there. In
former years Henry Tremaine had done much alligator shooting in this
section, having bought for a mere song a roomy, old-fashioned house
that stood in the midst of considerable grounds at the head of Lake
Okeechobee.
The December day being warm, Tremaine, his wife and ward and Dixon
were out on the porch. At a little distance away sat Tom Halstead,
absorbed in a book that he had brought along. Out on the porch at this
moment, bringing a pitcher of lemonade and glasses on a tray, bustled
Ham Mockus. For inquiry ashore had brought out the information that Ham
bore an excellent reputation; he had, therefore, been brought along as
cook and general servant to this brief alligator hunting expedition.
Two or three hundred yards below the house a pier ran some fifty feet
out into the lake. At the end of the pier was a high-hulled twenty-foot
gasoline launch—a boat capable of carrying fifteen passengers at a
pinch. Just now Joe was alone in the little craft, overhauling the
engine.
“Why didn’t you help your friend!” asked Mrs. Tremaine, looking over
with a friendly smile.
“I offered to,” grimaced Halstead. “But Joe smiled in his dry way and
told me he didn’t believe I knew much about motor boats.”
“That must have made you feel quarrelsome,” laughed Ida Silsbee.
“Oh, not exactly,” grinned Captain Tom. “I suppose I do know, in a
general way, how a gasoline motor is put together, and how to run one,
if I have to. But when it comes to motors I’m certainly not in Joe
Dawson’s class. He’s a wonder when it comes to machinery.”
“But Dawson says,” interjected young Dixon, “that, when it comes to
handling a boat anywhere and in any sort of weather, your equal is hard
to find. You two appear to form a mutual admiration society.”
Though this was said with a laugh, and in a tone at which no offense
could reasonably be taken, Tom Halstead nevertheless flushed. He had
grown to look for slighting remarks from this young man.
“Oh, if it is a matter of believing that Captain Halstead and his
friend are the brightest young men of their kind, I’ll subscribe,”
ventured Ida Silsbee, promptly, whereat Dixon frowned as he turned his
head away.
Too-oot! toot! toot! sounded shrilly from the end of the pier: Joe was
tuning up the little auto whistle on the launch.
“I guess Dawson wants me,” said Tom, rising.
“Guess again,” laughed Mrs. Tremaine, in her languid way.
For, at that moment, Joe cast off from the pier, driving the little
launch out into the lake. As Henry Tremaine had ordered this boat built
and delivered at Lake Okeechobee lately, and had never seen her in
operation, he now rose, and went over to the edge of the porch to watch
her movements.
“Dawson certainly knows how to make a boat hum,” observed the owner of
the place.
“It would go twice as well if Halstead were aboard,” remarked Oliver
Dixon.
“You’ll have to stop teasing our young captain, or he’ll lose you
overboard, some dark night when we get back to sailing on the Gulf,”
laughed Mrs. Tremaine. Tom fancied there was a slight note of warning
in her voice.
“Oh, I wouldn’t string Halstead,” rejoined Dixon, dryly. “I esteem him
too highly and take him too seriously for that.”
“Cut it!” uttered Tremaine, in a low voice, as he passed Dixon. That
young man started, at such a peremptory command. He glanced over at
Ida Silsbee, to see a flash of angry remonstrance in her handsome dark
eyes.
“Why does the girl take such an interest in this young booby of
a so-called captain?” Dixon asked himself, uncomfortably. Then,
stretching slightly and indolently, to hide his discomfiture, the young
man vanished inside the house.
Joe, meantime, was circling about on the lake, sounding his whistle
once in a while, as though he wished to invite the attention of those
on the porch. At last he turned and sped back to the pier.
“She seems to run all right, Joe,” called Halstead, as his chum came up
the boardwalk.
“Runs first rate for a little lake boat,” replied Dawson.
“Are you really pleased with the craft?” inquired Henry Tremaine. “I
wish you’d tell me candidly, because I ordered her by mail, on the
builder’s representations. He claimed she’d make fifteen miles an hour.”
“The boat will do eleven, all right,” nodded Joe. “That’s pretty good
as fresh water launches run.”
“Three hours to luncheon,” said Halstead, musingly, looking at his
watch. “You spoke of going out this afternoon, Mr. Tremaine. Would you
care about going now?”
“No,” said the owner. “I’m going inside soon to write some letters.”
Mrs. Tremaine shook her head when Tom glanced at her.
“I’ll go out with you, Captain Halstead,” cried Miss Silsbee, rising.
“Almost anything is better than sitting idly here.”
“Do you want to go out again, Joe!” asked Halstead, looking at his chum.
“I would if I were needed, but you can handle the boat all right, old
fellow.”
“Come on, then, Captain, since you and I are the only ones who are
energetic enough to start,” cried Ida, gayly.
“I’ll ring for Ham, and have him tell Mr. Dixon that there’s a seat for
him in the boat,” proposed Mrs. Tremaine.
“If you do,” retorted Miss Silsbee, in a low voice, “I’ll stay ashore.
Mr. Dixon is very pleasant and attentive, but it’s a pleasure to go
some places without him.”
Tom, who was going slowly down the boardwalk, did not hear this. Ida
ran nimbly after him.
“Hurry along, Captain,” she cried, “and we won’t have to be bothered
with an unnecessary third.”
Skipper Tom glanced at her in some surprise. He knew Dixon to be deeply
devoted to this beautiful girl, and had thought that she was interested
in Dixon.
“I suppose he sticks too closely to her, though,” thought Halstead.
“Any girl likes to have a little time to herself.”
So he helped her gallantly into the launch, started the motor and cast
off.
“Hullo, there!” shouted Dixon, running out onto the porch. “Wait! I’ll
go with you!”
“Make believe you don’t hear him,” murmured Ida, pouting.
Nothing loath, when backed by such a command, Captain Halstead threw on
full speed, sending the launch speeding to the southward. He kept his
gaze for some time on the water, seeking for shallows.
“You don’t like Mr. Dixon very well, do you?” inquired Miss Silsbee,
abruptly, after a while.
Tom started, looking up to find her gaze intently fixed on his face.
“What makes you think that?” he asked.
“Oh, it’s just a supposition. I know Mr. Dixon must annoy you a good
deal with his teasing. So you can’t very well like him.”
“Let us suppose it another way,” Tom smiled back into her eyes.
“Perhaps he doesn’t like me, and that’s why he is sometimes—well,
perhaps a little bit sarcastic.”
“I don’t see how he can help liking you,” returned Ida Silsbee,
frankly.
“Why?”
“Well, you’re all that’s manly, Captain Halstead.”
“Thank you.”
“Oh, I mean it,” pursued the girl, earnestly. “And I’m so much older
than you that I know you won’t mind my saying it. What I am trying
to arrive at is that I don’t want you to get any idea that Mr. Dixon
reflects the sentiment of the rest of the party.”
“I haven’t formed that impression, Miss Silsbee. You all have treated
me splendidly—even after that miserable affair of the other morning.”
“Oh, Mr. Tremaine is as sorry as possible about that,” cried the girl.
“He told me himself that he’d much rather lose the money than have
anything happen to wound the feelings of Mr. Dawson or yourself. He
says you are two of the staunchest, most splendid young fellows he
ever expects to meet. It seems he knew that our danger in the gale,
the other night, was far greater than he let Mrs. Tremaine or myself
suspect. He tells us you were both cool, and brave, and that such young
men couldn’t be anything but splendid and upright. Mr. Tremaine says
he’d cheerfully fight any man who tried to throw doubt over either
yourself or Mr. Dawson.”
“That’s fine of him,” said Tom, gratefully, then added, moodily: “Just
the same, I wish that affair of the missing money could be cleared up
some way. It hangs over me, in my own mind.”
“Then suppose you let me carry your burden for you for a while,”
proposed Ida Silsbee, looking at him with laughing eyes. “Only, I can’t
promise not to be careless. I might drop the burden over the first
stone wall.”
After that the pair chatted merrily enough, while Tom ran the boat
along mile after mile, under the soft Florida winter sun. The day was
warmer than usual even in this far southern spot.
As the launch glided along they passed small islands now and then, for
Lake Okeechobee is well supplied with them.
“Oh, see there! Run in at that island—do!” begged Ida. “See that
beautiful moss hanging from that tree. It’s different from any other
hanging moss I’ve seen. I’d dearly love to dry some of that moss and
take it North with me.”
So Tom ran the launch in under slow headway, reached it, and took a
hitch of the bow line around the trunk of a small tree that grew at the
water’s edge.
“Now, help me down, as gallantly as you can,” appealed Ida Silsbee,
standing in the bow of the boat, one hand resting at her skirt.
“You coming ashore?” cried Tom, almost protestingly. “Oh, Miss Silsbee,
I am afraid!”
“Of what?”
“Rattlers, or other snakes that may abound on this island.”
“Yet you’re not afraid for yourself.”
“I think I can protect myself.”
“Then why not protect me? Oh, I _do_ want to go ashore.”
Worried, Halstead stepped back into the boat and picked up the stout
tiller stick that was meant to be thrust into the rudder post in case
the wheel-gear became disabled.
“Keep right behind me, then, please,” begged the young skipper, holding
the tiller stick in readiness for any reptilian foe he might espy.
The tree in question was some distance inland on the island, past a
rise in the ground. Tom, eternally vigilant, piloted Miss Silsbee
slowly along, scanning every inch of the ground near them. At last they
reached the tree. After inspecting all the ground near by, Halstead
climbed the tree, detaching and throwing down a quantity of the pretty
moss, which the girl laughingly gathered in her arms. Then the young
skipper descended.
“I wonder if my guardian intends to do his alligator hunting anywhere
around here?” asked the girl.
“Oh, no; the alligators seldom venture into this lake,” Tom replied.
“We have to go the length of the lake, I understand, and then penetrate
for some distance into the Everglades. There are no alligators here.”
Just at that moment they came to the rise in the ground, then passed on
to descend to the boat.
“No alligators here——” Tom began again, but paused, paling and staring
aghast.
For out of the water and up onto the beach crawled two monstrous
twelve-foot alligators. They halted on the land just before the boat,
opening and snapping their great jaws.
“Ugh! That’s a fine sight to run upon when a fellow hasn’t any
firearms,” grated Halstead, hoarsely. He felt the gooseflesh starting
all over him.