SHOOTING TO KILL.
WHEN night came Charley and Walter had to go on the picket line alone,
for the two remaining Spanish guards would have to join the grading
gang in the morning. They adopted the plan the first two Spanish guards
had used of each one making a half circle of the camp. For several
hours they paced wearily back and forth, but as midnight drew near
they became more watchful and alert, for this was the hour that their
enemies generally chose to make their attacks.
All the camp was fast asleep and silence reigned unbroken, except
for the exhaust of the machine and the occasional heavy fall of a
fire-eaten tree in the jungle. But in their loneliness the boys were
comforted by the knowledge that in their tents Captain, Chris, the
engineers, and many of the Spaniards were sleeping, fully dressed with
their guns by their sides, ready to run to the lads' assistance at the
first alarm.
And soon it came, the sharp crack of rifles around both camp and
machine. The two lads answered promptly, firing at the bright streaks
of the blazing rifles in the darkness.
"Keep down, keep down. Get behind the sand heaps," Charley shouted, as
those in the tents came running to their assistance. "Keep down. They
are shooting to kill this time."
A rain of bullets thudded against the sand heaps as the defenders
dropped behind them and fired over the tops. The darkness was pierced
with streaks of spurting fire as rifle spoke to rifle. It was evident
that the enemy were shooting to kill, and the defenders did the same.
Wherever a rifle flash lit up the darkness they aimed at the place
and quickly fired. Occasional cries and oaths told them that some of
their bullets were finding their mark. But they were not to go unhurt
for their part. Charley, who had raised himself up to fire, felt the
thud of a bullet and his left arm dropped helplessly by his side. In
the excitement he felt no pain, but, letting go his rifle, he drew his
automatic and blazed away with it. Walter, behind the next pile, had
his straw hat shot off his head. Bob Bratton pitched forward on his
face and lay still and motionless, while one of the Spaniards sank to
the ground, his hand clapped to a wounded leg and cursed fluently. Once
Walter glanced back at the machine. Its platform was revolving rapidly
and the rifles of its crew were spatting viciously. But the enemy did
not now have the protection of the trees, and they could not long face
the hail of lead being poured upon them. Their firing suddenly ceased.
From where they had stood came piercing shrieks, and following the
shrieks came frightened yells and the thud of running feet.
"Captain, take most of the men and go to the aid of the machine,"
Charley commanded. "The fighting is over here." The old sailor hurried
away, followed by McCarty and most of the Spaniards.
From the darkness ahead of the two boys still came the awful shrieks.
"Chris, get a lantern, we must find out what's the matter out there,"
Charley said.
The little negro was back in a minute with the light and, taking it
from him, Walter led the way hastily toward the shrieks which were
growing fainter. He was closely followed by his chum and Chris with
their automatics in their hands. As the lantern lit up the scene of the
shrieks, Walter shrank back with a cry of fear and horror. A hideous
head with lidless gleaming eyes was reared many feet above the ground.
Recovering himself with an effort, the lad raised his automatic and
fired directly between the gleaming eyes. At the same minute Charley
and Chris discharged their weapons and the hideous head fell to the
ground.
Holding aloft the light, the three frightened boys advanced cautiously.
Its rays shone down on a sickening sight. On the ground lay one of
the gunmen crushed into a shapeless mass, while, still partly coiled
around the man's body, a great boa constrictor writhed in its last
death struggles.
"Ugh!" shuddered Walter, "I did not know there was such an awful thing
in Florida."
"Fire drove it out of the jungle, I guess," said Charley jerkingly.
"Let's get back to camp. Bratton has fallen and one of the Spaniards is
badly hurt. We can do nothing here, it's all over."
They had carried Bratton in and laid him upon his cot and were helping
the wounded Spaniard in, when Walter cried:
"Look at the machine! Look at the machine!"
The machine and the air about it was a mass of flames. Black figures
were leaping from its platform.
"Rifle bullet hit gas tank," muttered Charley dreamily. "Explosion.
Can't work nights. Keep her going daytimes, Walt. Enough men unhurt to
do that. I'm tired, awfully tired. Think I'll go to sleep pretty soon,"
and the lad, weak from loss of blood, sank unconscious to the ground.
When Charley opened his eyes it was to find himself in his cot, his arm
neatly bound in splints, the sun shining in the open tent flaps, and
Walter sitting on a box by his side.
"How did I get here?" he asked in wonder. "The last I remember was the
machine being in flames."
"You keeled over in a faint," Walter replied cheerfully. "Loss of
blood, I guess."
"Was there any one killed?" Charley demanded anxiously.
"We thought Bratton was for a while, but the bullet hit a rib and
glanced out again, making only a flesh wound. He'll be all right again
in a week. The three Spaniards on the machine got pretty badly burned,
but not dangerously so. Luckily for them, the ditch was there. They
jumped right off the machine into it. The engineer by some miracle
escaped without a burn. Sicavia, the Spaniard that was wounded in the
leg, will be around again in a few days. He has only got a flesh wound.
I guess that's all, except we buried that dead gunman this morning."
"The machine, is it running?" Charley questioned eagerly.
"Yes, I got them to start her up again this morning. But we can't run
her nights for we have neither lights nor a night crew."
"Go on," said Charley gravely. "I see that there's worse to follow."
"Well, if you will have it, I suppose you might as well learn it now as
a little later," Walter said. "The fact is the whole gang of Spaniards
are going to quit. I had hard work to get any of them to remain over
to-day."
"I suppose this is the end," said Charley, with a wry smile. "Well, we
have fought a good fight, and I, for one, am not going to give up yet."
"There is such a thing as knowing when one is licked," his chum said
sadly, "and I think about every one on the job has reached that point.
I do not see how we can do anything more."
Charley lay quiet for a minute thinking, then he said quietly: "Will
you get me about a pint of hot, strong coffee, Walt?"
"Sure," answered his chum quickly, glad to see Charley taking the ill
news so quietly.
When he returned it was to find his chum sitting on the edge of his cot
trying to dress, but making an awkward job of it with only one hand.
"You must not get up," he protested, but Charley only smiled and said
lightly: "Nonsense, a broken arm is no excuse for lying in bed. Why, it
don't even pain me much. The pain will come later when the bone begins
to knit. Will you please get all the men together? I want to talk with
them a bit."
When Walter had gone the lad finished dressing and drank the strong
coffee, which put new strength in his body.
When he emerged from the tent it was to find that his chum had gathered
together in a body outside all the men but those confined to the
hospital tent. He had even brought in the men from the machine, which
had been stopped for the purpose.
Charley wasted no time in idle words, but came directly to the point.
"My chum tells me, men, that you all want to quit," he said in Spanish.
"Si, señor, si, señor (Yes sir, yes sir), came the eager answer from
the crowd.
"You are your own masters," continued the lad. "Of course, you are
free to quit whenever you want to and there will be no trouble about
getting your money when you wish to go, although your month is not up
yet." He paused for a moment and looked over the eager faces gathered
before him, before he continued: "I would not attempt to keep you on
this job against your will, but I will say that I think it is foolish
of you to quit now. All the bridges between here and Jupiter have been
destroyed, so I cannot take you in with the truck. To attempt to make
your way in through the woods and carry your belongings with you would
be folly, for the way would be long and winding and you would run the
risk of getting lost. Besides, there are several of your companions who
are sick and unable to travel. Surely you do not want to desert them.
Now, what I wish to propose is this: You all know the teamster has gone
in to get more mules. We expect him back any hour. When he comes if you
are still minded to quit, we will hire an Indian guide and send you in
by wagon. Until he comes, I would ask you to continue at work. Our
lights on the machine are ruined so we can only work day times, and in
the day time you are in no danger from our enemies. Those of you who do
not work on the machine will throw up breastworks all around the camp
so that we will be well protected at night."
When he ceased the Spaniards drew to one side for consultation. In a
few minutes Bossie came forward and said in his quaint broken English:
"We stay till by and bye, wagon come, then catchee town. We all likee
Boss plenty. Likee grub, likee job, but no likee mud, no likee fever,
no likee shooting all the time. We work till wagon come--no more."
"Good," said Charley, "you can go back to work now. It might be worse,"
he remarked to his chum. "The machine will be kept going day times
anyway."