SCOUTING.
FORTUNATELY for Charley the newly-leveled road was still so unpacked
and soft that the mule quickly tired, with its feet at every stride
sinking to the fetlocks, and, before it reached the end of the grade,
the lad had it under control. At the end of the grade lay the heaps of
soft sand and mud the machine had lately thrown out. He must cross the
ditch in order to get around the machine and do it before he reached
the ant-like hills of dirt. He rose in his stirrups and surveyed the
ditch ahead. It was about eight feet wide and several feet in depth,
and in many places the bottom was nothing more than liquid mud. Picking
out a place where the bottom showed white sand, the lad headed the
mule for the ditch, and, as it hesitated for a moment on the edge, he
brought his whip down smartly on its flank. With a snort of rage the
mule leaped forward, clearing the ditch by a full two feet. It was a
wonderful jump, and Charley settled back in the saddle with a sigh of
relief. "You're sure some jumper, Violet," he said.
Skirting the edge of the ditch until he had passed the machine the
lad regained the old road and rode slowly along, examining closely
the route the machine would have to take. This was indicated by the
surveyors' stakes, pieces of lath stuck into the ground every hundred
feet. For the most part the stakes followed the line of the old road,
departing from it only where the road turned and twisted, and Charley
was able to follow them easily. The surveyor had done his work well.
Every hundred feet had its stake, and on each stake was marked in blue
pencil the number of the stake and the number of feet the new road
should be graded to make it level. A full sense of the magnitude of
the task they had undertaken came upon the lad, as he followed up the
never-ending line of stakes. Here they led through a little hummock of
dense growth, where it would be a fearful job to clear away the timber
and dynamite the stumps. Beyond the hummock they crossed stretches of
prairie or pine barrens, or skirted the treacherously soft edges of saw
grass ponds, only to enter another hummock beyond. Charley gave a sigh
of relief when the stakes joined the old road again. "There's sure some
bad digging in those hummocks and around the edges of those ponds," he
said to himself, "and how easy it will be for our enemies to tie up the
machine for weeks, break us financially, and drive us off this job, if
they just do one simple little thing that a child ought to think of. I
guess it is because the thing is so simple that they have not thought
of it."
The reason for the stakes following the old road so steadily soon
became apparent, for a little farther on it entered the thickest jungle
the lad had ever seen. On both sides rose gigantic trees, matted
together by great entwining creepers, and on each side of the road lay
stagnant pools of water, covered with nauseous-smelling green slime.
Not a sound of life came from the jungle's gloomy depths. The only
living things seemed to be the huge, sluggish moccasins that slipped
noiselessly from the road into the pools as the mule approached.
Evidently the surveyor had decided that the old road was the only
feasible route through the jungle.
Suddenly Charley ducked his head, as a whining, singing sound, passed
over him. He had heard that whining message before, and knew it for
what it was.
"A rifle bullet," he ejaculated, bewildered, as he reined in the mule
and looked around. But no powder smoke met his searching gaze, and no
report followed the bullet's whine.
Again it came, that menacing, whining sound, and from a tree close
beside where he sat on the mule an inch-thick branch rattled to the
ground, cut clean from the tree by the bullet.
Still Charley remained motionless, not knowing which way to go,
backward or forward, but the next whining bullet decided the matter for
him. It plowed a bit of skin from the mule's flank, and the startled
animal, leaping forward, began to run. By the time the lad got it under
control they were half a mile from where the shooting had taken place.
"Whew! That was almost uncanny," the lad muttered to himself. "No
smoke, no report, nothing but the whizzing of the bullets. It was
not any native of these parts doing that firing, that's a cinch. The
Indians and cowmen do not know that there are such things in existence
as smokeless powder and Maxim silencers."
The weird jungle proved to be about two miles across, and Charley soon,
with a feeling of relief, rode out into a pleasant, open country,
dotted with small, clear-water lakes. He now began to come upon signs
of life: cows grazing on the short, crisp grass; hogs rooting in the
soft, muddy places. He grinned, as, turning a curve in the road, he
came suddenly upon a group of Indian maidens, bathing in a little lake,
and who, with shrill cries, bolted for the cover of a thicket when they
spied him. Charley, with a grin on his face, kept his head turned the
other way as he rode past. Not long after passing them he began to come
upon patches of cultivated ground, and the thatched-roofed, open-walled
dwellings of the Indians. At the first dwelling he dismounted and
fastened the mule to a tree. The Indians from all the shelters crowded
around him with eager greetings. He was delighted to find among the
crowd many whom he had met before in the Everglades. These were
apparently delighted to see him, and gravely made him acquainted with
the rest of the tribe, which was composed of about one hundred braves,
besides women and children. They insisted upon his having dinner with
them. They fed and watched the mule, and altogether made him feel
that he was among friends. For his part Charley was astonished at the
evidences of prosperity this tribe exhibited. Their ponies, dress, and
dwellings were far superior to any other tribes that he had ever met
up with. But what astonished him most was the patches of cultivated
ground. Never before had he seen such a wonderful growth of corn, yams,
melons, and pumpkins.
After a dinner of stewed venison, yams, and melon, Charley began to ask
the questions that had brought him out on his lonely ride. The Indians
answered them readily. "Yes, they had seen white men--strangers. There
had been several out as far as Indiantown. Sometimes they came two or
three together. Sometimes one would come alone. They would camp for
one sleep, then return to town and be seen no more. One there was who
came often--a little man, with a beard like a spade. No, they did
not know what the strangers' business was so far out from town. They
carried guns, but seemed to kill no game." Mr. Bower, the man who kept
the trading-post two miles farther out, might be able to tell him more
about the strangers.
So Charley mounted the mule again, and rode out to the trading-post.
The road led direct to the little store hut, which was surrounded by
a magnificent grove of oranges and grape fruit. Mr. Bowers, a fat,
jovial-looking man, greeted him cordially, but could tell him nothing
more about the strangers than he had already learned from the Indians.
One fact he did learn, however, none of the visitors ever went beyond
the trading-post. The lad then knew the clew for which he was looking
must lie somewhere between the trading-post and the machine.
"We are meeting with some opposition in our road-building," Charley
explained frankly, "and I did not know but what it might come through
you cattle owners objecting to having your grazing lands thrown open to
new settlers."
"Lord, no!" exclaimed Mr. Bowers, in frank surprise. "We have been
trying to get that road out here for years. There's only half a
dozen of us scattered between here and the big lake, and it has been
hard work forcing the county commissioners to have the road built.
Of course, we want the road. Our oranges rot on the trees now every
season, because we are not able to haul them through the mud to the
railroad. Our groves, with that road opened, would be worth more than
our cattle. What if it does bring in new settlers? They will help to
make our groves and lands still more valuable. If any one tries to hold
up that road-building we will fix him if we can get our hands on him."
It was well along in the afternoon when Charley bade the genial Mr.
Bowers good-by and headed his mule back for camp. He alighted at
the Indian camp for a moment, to examine the land, which seemed so
wonderfully fertile. On the surface it appeared sandy and like other
pine land, but a couple of feet below the surface he came upon a kind
of soft, grayish rock. He dug out several pieces with his knife,
dropped them in his game bag, and, remounting and waving a last
farewell to the Seminoles, he proceeded on his homeward way.
It was with a feeling of dread that he rode back through the jungle,
expecting every minute to feel the impact of a bullet. But he emerged
safely on the other side without any message from the hidden enemies.
Darkness fell soon after he left the jungle, but he merely let slack
the reins and trusted to his animal's instinct to find the way home.
Soon he spied the lights of the machine in the distance, and a half
hour later he dismounted at the camp, aching and sore in every muscle
of his body, and discouraged over his fruitless trip.