"Wheredo all you boys come from?[A]I've been pretty well over the Bahama Islands, but I can't quite place you chaps," Charley said, smilingly. "What island are you from, anyway?"
"I reckon most of us men are from Andros and Abacco Islands. Thar's four or five from Little Abacco or Green Turtle Key."
"I have never been ashore at Andros or Abacco Island, but I know lots of fellows from Green Turtle Key. Will those of you from Green Turtle Key please step to one side?" Five grinning negroes separated themselves from the crowd.
"I understand that you boys have quit work and gone on a strike because your wages have not been paid. Well, inside of two hours I will have your checks made out, and you can go. We will not need you any longer.
"Hold on, you fellows from Green Turtle Key,"he said, as they began to move away with the crowd. "I can't carry you all in at one trip. The truck can't do it on a dirt road. I want you fellows to stay over to-morrow, and I will take you in the next day, and I want you to work cleaning up this camp. Of course, we will pay you extra for the work, but it must be done well. Captain Westfield, here, will show you what we want done."
The five negroes began to grumble, but the lad silenced them with a word. "If you are in such a hurry to go, you can walk in," he said. The negroes were not anxious to walk in, so they gave a grudging consent.
"Gee," whispered Walter, who had been listening closely. "How can we afford to pay them? They say there is two months' pay due them, and that will about eat up the balance of our funds."
"We have simply got to pay them," Charley grinned. "The labor alien law is strict, and they could tie up the machine with liens and render us helpless. Things are not quite as bad as they look. I've been looking over Murphy's papers, and I find that this month he had dug 10,000 yards so far. He could not collect the money on it until the county engineer comes out and measures it up, and that will not be until the end of the month, so we will get the $1,750 coming in."
"But look what shape we are putting ourselvesin," said Walter anxiously. "We can't work the machine without men."
"Don't worry about that," said Charley cheerfully. "I'll tend to getting new and better men. What I would like you to do is to stick right close to McCarty and learn everything you can about the machine. He'll be glad enough to show you. I want you to master it, so that you will know how every part of it works, and can let me know, so that I can have a new part ready when the old one gives out."
"Good," Walter exclaimed. "I would rather fool around machinery than do any other work. Say, where's McCarty's tent? I want to have a talk with him."
"Wait until after dinner," Charley counseled. "He's enjoying himself now."
"But what am I going to do, Charles?" protested Captain Westfield. "I don't see where I come in."
"I want you to be general overseer over the ground men, graders, and teamsters. You see, Captain, we want to push the work as fast as we can, and with as few accidents as possible. I am going to increase the men's wages, but they have got to earn their money. Take the graders we watched yesterday. Two good men could have done the work those five were doing. Now, if you will help me, we will get up our two tents a littlefarther up the road. To-morrow I wish that you would see that every tent is taken down and scrubbed with soap and water with a good dose of carbolic acid in it. When they are dry, have them pitched again, not far from that little bunch of spruce there. We will pitch our own tents among the spruces."
McCarty and Walter came to their assistance, and in a short time the two tents were pitched in the thicket of glossy green and the dirt floors carpeted thickly with fragrant pine needles. This done, Charley brought over from Murphy's tent the box with its collection of papers. The payroll was already made out, so all the lad had to do was to make out the checks and, as soon as it was done, the negroes filed in, one by one, signed their names to the pay sheet, and received their checks. Some of them would have liked to have stayed and worked on, but the lad was sick of their dirtiness and laziness, and wanted no more of them.
Dinner followed close upon the completion of this task, and all gathered around the long tables upon which Chris had already impressed somewhat of cleanliness, and had cleaned up some of the rubbish which had littered the floor. The grinning negroes sat down to a dinner such as they hadn't eaten in many a day—plain and simple, but wholesome and well flavored and well cooked.
They had hardly begun to eat when the engineersentered, bearing a big bag of quail and followed by a panting pointer dog. They sat down quietly at the boys' table, and sullenly began to eat. Charley noted their faces with dissatisfaction. He knew, from what he had seen of the class, that dredge men are a hard, cruel, overbearing class, but these two shocked him in their sheer coarseness and brutality of expression, and from each emanated the strong odor of cheap whiskey. If not drunk, they were apparently on the verge of drunkenness.
Charley waited until the last negro had filed out of the tent, then he turned to McCarty. "You might introduce me to your mates," he said, with mild sarcasm. "They are so highly trained, socially, that it seems that they will not speak without an introduction."
McCarty grinned with delight at his new boss.
"This," he said lightly, "is Bully Rooney; the one on the left is One-eyed McGill. Mr. Rooney, Mr. McGill, meet your new boss, Mr. West."
"If he's the new boss, he can just understand one thing," growled Rooney, "I'm not going to have any greenhorn fooling around the machine when I am working on it."
"Nor me, neither," growled his companion.
"You will not be troubled at all in that way," Charley assured them smilingly. "I'm going into town in the truck between two and three o'clock,and, if you can get your things packed up, I'll take you in. Your checks are ready, and I'll give them to you as soon as you sign the payroll. I do not want a man in our gang whom I cannot trust absolutely. And I will not have one that drinks. Drink leads to carelessness, and carelessness leads to accidents. I imagine that's why the machine has been broken down so much."
A scowl of rage showed on Rooney's face. "That snip of a McCarty has been shooting off his mouth too much."
"Murphy's papers told me all I needed to know," said Charley quickly, but McCarty spoke up coolly and on his own behalf:
"And I've told him about the same thing, and ought to have told him more. I should have told him that the machine has been losing money ever since you two came on the job. That nearly all the dirt that has been thrown out has been thrown out on my shift. That not a week has passed without the machine suffering some breakdown that, in most cases, could have been avoided. Lastly, I could, and should have told him, that there will not be a cent of money made on this job until it's rid of you two skulking, booze-fighting man-killers."
Bully Rooney's face grew black with anger, and he launched himself like a clumsy bear at the slight McCarty. The youth, his Irish-blue eyes sparklingwith anger, drew back his fists for a swinging blow at the other, but Charley promptly stepped in between the two with his little automatic in his hand.
"Here, that's about enough of this," he exclaimed. "If there's any fighting to be done in this camp hereafter, we will do it—understand that. Now you two go to your tents and pack up what belongs to you, for I start for town at three prompt."
The two sullenly departed for their tents, muttering angrily as they went, and Charley turned to McCarty.
"I wish you would take Walter down to the machine with you this afternoon and show him all you can about its workings. I would also like you to make out a list of what new parts may be needed soon, and I will order them at once. If you know or can think of anything that will help to make the machine dig more dirt, I wish you would suggest it to me, and we will go over it together. If it's feasible, we'll adopt it at once."
"I can suggest two or three things, right now," said McCarty, eagerly. "First, our pump is all on the bum. Its valve is all worn out. It needs repacking, and it needs a bigger intake pipe. We have to fill the boiler six times in twenty-four hours, and it takes an hour each time. If it had been tended to properly it would not take over fifteen minutes at a time to fill up the boiler; as it is,we lose a clear five hours' work a day on that one item alone. Then, there's the wood. It is always piled on the left side of the track, so that we always have to swing the machine around and wait for the ground men to load it on, and, of course, we do no work until they get through, which generally takes them 15 minutes, while, if it were placed on the other side, the machine could keep right on while the men were loading. There's another hour lost a day."
"Six hours' waste out of twenty-four," Charley exclaimed. "Get the measurement of that valve and intake pipe at once, and I'll get them when I go in this time. As for the wood business, that belongs in your department," he said, turning to the teamster, a lanky, humorous-looking Missourian; "what have you got to say about it?"
FOOTNOTE:[A]A form of address generally used in the South when white speaks to black.
FOOTNOTE:[A]A form of address generally used in the South when white speaks to black.
[A]A form of address generally used in the South when white speaks to black.
[A]A form of address generally used in the South when white speaks to black.
"I amnot the boss of this outfit," said the Missourian, with a smile. "I do what I am told to do. Rooney and McGill ordered me to pile the wood on that side, so I've been doing it. I reckon Rooney and his partner figured it out that they would get a little more rest that way. Let's have a look at the mules, if you can spare the time."
"Sure," said Charley gladly. "I want to get in touch with every part of the business as soon as possible."
"I always build them a corral whenever we make a new camp," observed the Missourian, as he led the way to the pen where he kept the mules. "Hold on!" he shouted, as Charley stooped to pass under the bars. "If Pansy and Violet don't just happen to like your appearance, they are likely as not to kick the soul out of you."
Charley withdrew in haste. "My, but they are beauties for mules."
"Finest team I've handled," declared the teamster, with a grin. "I kinder like to have them a little savage with everyone. It keeps strangersfrom fooling with them. They have life and plenty of sense. I could not do my work with a poor team of mules. This work is terrible on animals."
"And on men, too, I guess," Charley agreed. "I want to say that hereafter your wages will be $2.00 per day as long as we satisfy each other. Now, how is your work? How much wood have you got ahead for the machine?"
"Not much," admitted the teamster ruefully; "perhaps enough for a day and night, if the machine runs like it usually does."
"That's not enough," Charley said decidedly. "There should be at least a week's wood ahead all the time. In case a mule gets sick, or goes lame, don't you see that the machine would have to lie up until we could get another team? It looks to me like this dredging business is like links in a chain. If any one man, from teamster up, fails to do his part in the work, why, the whole machine has got to go out of business until the defect can be made good."
"I'm doing my best," the teamster protested. "Most of my wood has to be cut and hauled over a mile to the machine, and the route I have to take to get to it is generally a winding one, for I have to pass around all ponds and bog holes. It takes careful driving to avoid bogging down your team and losing it."
"Well, then there is one weak link we have got to strengthen right away," said the lad cheerfully. "I will not be back from town until day after to-morrow, but, when I come, I will bring a good man to help you. He can do the wood chopping while you do the hauling; meanwhile, keep on with your work, so as to get ahead while the machine is idle to-day and to-morrow. Another thing I would mention is that I want to get things so systematized that it will not be necessary to do but little work on Sunday. I want that as a day of rest for all hands, so far as possible."
The lanky Missourian reached out and grasped Charley's hand. "I'm right with you, lad, clean up to the hilt. You've got the right ideas. A body of men will do as much in six days as in seven, besides being more contented, healthy and cheerful."
"Well, I must get back to camp. I've got several things to see to before I start for town," Charley said.
"Hold on!" yelled the teamster, as the boy was turning away. "For God's sake don't move your feet!"
Startled, Charley looked down. In moving forward he had placed his right foot squarely upon the head of a huge snake, while his left foot was lying across the reptile's big body. It was only by summoning all his self-control that the lad keptfrom jerking impulsively ahead or to one side, a course which would surely have resulted in instant death. In fact, death was threatening as it was. The boy could hardly retain his position as the powerful reptile began to twist back and forth beneath his feet. Luckily, where he stood the ground was soft, and the parts of the snake upon which he stood were deeply imbedded in the soft sand, but, even with that in his favor, it was only a question of seconds before the repulsive reptile wriggled free. Charley drew his automatic and fired down at the huge, writhing, black body between his feet. The first shot penetrated the middle of the snake, and, firing slowly and carefully, Charley cut roughly through the middle of the snake's body. As its struggles grew less, the lad leaped far ahead and looked back. The snake was still struggling vigorously, but, with its body nearly severed, it could do nothing but swing its head viciously.
"You did that pretty neat, lad," said the teamster cheerfully. "I was afraid you would try to jump. You've shore got pluck."
Charley grinned. "It was simply a bad case of being too scared to move. Well, let's climb on the wagon and get back to camp. Say," he continued, as the teamster whipped up the mules he had harnessed up while talking, "do you have many of those moccasins out here?"
"Not many right here," grinned the driver, "but on these strips of pine lands there is not supposed to be any. I suppose our crew kills from twenty to twenty-five a week. Sometimes we kill them all curled up nice and comfortable in our bunks. But, pshaw! that ain't nothing to the day it will be five or ten miles farther out. I drove out there once and it's a sure bet the wheels and mules' hoofs killed over a hundred going and coming."
"Whew!" Charley whistled, "that's not very pleasant to hear, but, here we are at camp, and I've been too excited over this trip to ask your name."
"It's Jim Canody—'Languid Jim' they generally call me," grinned the teamster.
"You can go back to work, then, Jim," said Charley. "Do your best, and I'll have a good man to help you soon. Drive in by the cook tent and I'll jump off there."
"Well, Chris," he inquired, "how are you getting on?"
The little negro grinned. "Dis ain't going to be no cinch, Massa Charles," he said. "Cooking and cleaning up for twenty-five men is goin' to be a mighty big job for one small nigger. 'Sides, if you work a night crew hit means a whole lot more work putting up midnight lunches. Dat's a lot of extra work."
"I see you have got to have an assistant," Charley agreed.
"Dat's so," acquiesced Chris, "but he's going to be mah helper, and I want to pick him out."
"Give me a description of the kind of help you want, and I'll try to get it," Charley grinned.
Chris reflected. "I'd like a nigger jes' 'bout my size," he said musingly. "'Cause he won't be noaccount 'less I can make him do as I tell him. I'd like him to be a yellar nigger, too. 'Cause a yellar negro is much more timid, and shows de dirt much quicker dan a coal-black nigger. Hit's a lot moah easy to keep him clean. Dis nigger don't want no noaccount nigger trifling around dat he can't lick."
Charley grinned. "I'll try to get you one like you wish. Now, I want you to make up a list of everything you need for the next sixty days."
"Golly! Massa Charles," exclaimed the little negro. "I can't do dat, noways. I might figure out what it would take to feed one man, but I can't calculate on twenty-five men for sixty days. Dat's too big figuring for one little nigger."
"Well, just figure on one man for thirty days," said Charley, amused, "and I'll figure on the other twenty-four men."
"Golly," exclaimed Chris, "youah sure got a head on you, Massa Charles. I don't see at all how's you going to figure dat out."
"Get out your list," said Charley, "and some time I'll tell you how to do it. Don't put down any fancy thing—only just what will make substantial hearty grub, like rice, pork, beans, coffee, salt, canned milk, sugar, flour, dried fruits, macaroni, and, I guess, canned meats, until we get out to the hunting ground. Hurry up, now, and get up that list. It's time I was going now."
Leaving Chris to his strenuous labors of figuring out what one man could eat in thirty days, Charley gave a few instructions to the Captain about cleaning up the camp, and then sauntered over to the engineers' tent. With only a "Hello" he threw open the flap. Bully Rooney, half-dressed, rose up from his cot and jerked a rifle from its slings.
"Better put that down," Charley advised him. "Before you could get that thing into action I could riddle you with my automatic." Rooney reluctantly obeyed.
"Now, I didn't come in here for a row," the lad continued. "I came in to tell you that the car is ready for town. I'm going to leave in fifteen minutes. Better hustle and get your things together."
"I ain't going," said Rooney sullenly. "I've been working by the month, and I've got to have a month's notice or an extra month's pay."
"You are going. We will not have you on theground—and that's pat," Charley declared. "If you and your partner stay on, we will see that you eat none of the company's grub. You can just stay here and starve, for all we care. Make up your mind quick—five minutes of that fifteen minutes have gone."
"We'll go," growled Rooney, "but let me tell you, young fellow, we will sue you as soon as we strike town."
"That's good," said Charley, with cheerfulness. "We have got nothing to lose, because you've got no legal grounds for a suit; besides which, I don't believe either you or McGill dare to go to court. I really believe that neither of you dare face the showing up of the foul things you have done on this job. Now you both get a move on you. If you are not ready when starting time comes I'll leave you and bring out the sheriff to move you when I come back."
Before the time arrived to go, McGill and Rooney were stowing their hastily packed luggage in the car, and the negroes, with their few tattered belongings, were trying to find a place for themselves in the crowded truck. Then, with Charley at the wheel, the truck was headed around for Jupiter, and they were off.
"I don'tlike the idea of Charley going in alone with that gang," Captain Westfield said uneasily. "It's a bad crowd he's got along with him, and they may make him trouble."
"I don't think they will," said Walter, as the two stood watching the truck out of sight. "They have all got their checks, and have got no reason for making trouble. I guess Charley can take care of himself. Did you see how fast he was driving the car—almost too fast? If those engineers are not just plain fools, they will not touch him, for, if he let go that steering wheel for a second or two, the car would turn turtle into the ditch and all hands be killed or hurt."
"Well," said the Captain, with relief, "if that's the case, I'll quit worrying and get out those Saws to get down the tents that are empty."
"And I'll go back to the machine," Walter said. "I want to learn all about it as soon as I can. McCarty seems to be a mighty fine fellow, and he is going to show me how to run it."
McCarty was waiting for him at the machine. "Now the first lesson is going to be a dirty one," he said. "We will have to crawl under the car, so you can see how each part works."
Shedding their coats, the two wriggled under on the wet ground and, lying on their backs, McCarty pointed out the various cog-wheels that worked the car and the swinging table.
"Gosh!" exclaimed McCarty suddenly. "Look at that!"
Startled, Walter looked to where the other was pointing. In one of the deep, sharp niches, into which the long teeth of the ratching descended when the platform was in motion, was wedged a round, yellow stick, of some eight inches in length.
McCarty pulled out the strange object and looked at it musingly. He broke off a bit of it, and, crumbling it up in his hand, examined it closely. "That stuff must have been put in there just before I went on duty night before last," he said. "Gosh! It's lucky the nigger struck on me before I started up the machine."
"Why?" Walter asked. "What is that stuff, anyway?"
McCarty threw him the stick. "Catch it," he said; "that's dynamite of the strongest grade."
Walter held the stick gingerly, as though he was afraid it might go off at any minute.
"Don't be afraid of it," laughed McCarty. "Itdoesn't go off so very easy. It needs a sudden, hard jar, or a cap and fuse, to explode it. If I had swung that thirty-ton platform around on top of that stuff the machine would likely have been pretty badly smashed up, and maybe some of us killed."
"Who could have put it there?" Walter asked.
"Hard to say. Someone who wanted to put the machine out of business, of course. To be frank, however, it all points to Rooney, who had the shift before mine. He blew the whistle for me when his shift was up, and I left from the camp at once. We passed each other about halfway, so no one else would have had much chance to put anything in there, between his departure from the machine and my arrival. However, it has done no harm, so there's no use worrying about it now, but we had better look good, and see if there's any more of it scattered around."
A close search, however, failed to reveal any more of the dangerous explosive, so the two boys crawled out from under the car and mounted the swinging steel platform, where McCarty showed the other which part of the cog-wheels they had seen below each lever controlled. There was a lever to move the car back and forth on its tracks like a steam engine, a lever to put on brakes, one to control the two-ton steel bucket, and another to raise and lower the long steel crane.
"Best way for you to learn to run it is to come on as fireman," he advised. "It's a hot, dirty job, and long hours, but you've got to learn the steam part first before you can become a good runner. You've got to know enough about a steam engine to tell if your fireman is doing his part right—to know whether he is carrying too much or too little steam, and whether he keeps water enough in the boiler all the time. A careless fireman can easily blow up a boiler and wreck his engine, so it pays to keep an eye on your fireman."
"All right. I'll come on as a fireman," agreed Walter, cheerfully.
"That's right," approved McCarty. "It's the only proper way to learn. Here's another thing to think of: Suppose you went on to that machine to-morrow as a runner. You know now how it works, all about the levers, etc. But, take one example. The first thing you may have to do is to move back on another section of track. A section of track is only fifteen feet long, and the part of the car that rests on it covers twelve of the fifteen feet. The section next is butted up against the one the car is on, but is not fastened to it. Across the ends of the two sections the ground men place two six-foot pieces of iron rail, to catch the center wheels of the car. Now, everything is ready for moving, and the ground men signal, 'Go ahead.' You start ahead. Suddenly the groundmen, who are watching cry, 'Hold, hold.' When you have heard that cry you know the car is not hitting that second section right. You have to stop that machine, and stop it, not in a second, but in a fraction of a second, or your machine will be off the track and buried in the sand; or, perhaps, even skidded into the ditch, and likely lost to you forever. Do you suppose a green man, with all that array of levers before him, could act quick enough to save his machine and crew? Why, running a steam locomotive is easy compared to running one of these things. Well, I guess we have gone over everything, and we might as well go back to camp. In the morning we will come out and fire up and take a few lessons in actual practice in firing and handling some of the simpler levers."
"Good!" Walter exclaimed. "Say, what's that haze off there in the west? Isn't it smoke?"
"Indian fires," said McCarty. "They burn off parts of the prairies every six months so as to get fresh pasture for their stock. Appearances are deceptive out here. The air is so clear that one can see objects very far distant. Now, how far off would you say that fire is?"
"About ten miles off," Walter guessed.
"It's more than twice that far," declared the other. "It's a queer country we will be entering soon, and I'm thinking we'll see some queer thingsbefore we get through this job. But, here we are at the camp. My, that supper smells good."
They found the Captain driving the negroes at their task with all the authority an old shipmaster can display.
"Gee," exclaimed McCarty, "I never saw those niggers work like that before. Why, they've got all the empty tents down and one of them washed up. I wonder how he did it."
"Oh, the Captain can handle men, all right," said Walter proudly. "That has been his business all his life, handling tough crews of sailors."
The old skipper knocked off his men for the night and joined the two lads. "Well, I've got a good start for to-morrow," he said, with satisfaction. "We'll have everything finished up by to-morrow night. Say, those Saws ain't half-bad workers when you handle them right."
"Negroes are no good out on this kind of work. A nigger wants to be in or near a town," McCarty declared positively. "He wants to be where he can get out nights and 'rambles,' as he calls it. He don't like to stay long on a job, anyway. If he's not paid every Saturday night, he quits. If he is paid, he's pretty likely to quit, too, for he will have $8 or $9 in his pocket, and, as long as he has a dollar he does not believe in work. I remember hearing once this dialogue between a white man and a nigger:
"White Man—'Say, boy, do you want to earn a quarter?'
"Negro—'No, sah, boss; I'se dun got a quarter.'"
Chris beating on a tin pan drew them all to the cook tent, where a good supper awaited them. The sun went out of sight while they were eating, and darkness followed immediately, as there is no twilight in Florida. Lanterns were lit, and, while the Captain and Walter lent the overworked little negro a hand in cleaning up, McCarty, who had moved his tent close to the Captain's, built up a big fire in front of the tents, and hunted up a few boxes for seats. Here the Captain and Walter soon joined him, while Chris wandered over to visit with his countrymen.
"I always like to sit by a camp fire evenings, when I am out on a job like this." McCarty said. "It seems to take away some of the loneliness, and makes things seem more cheerful. Just listen for a minute to the din, will you?"
There was no need to listen—the din could not be ignored. The croaking of millions of frogs, the honk of sand-hill cranes, and the screeching of innumerable owls rose up from the darkness about them.
"Sounds like they were all saying their prayers at once and getting ready to go to sleep," said Walter, with a laugh.
"And that's just what they are doing," said McCarty. "Step outside of the circle of firelight with me, and take a look around."
The three stepped out a few paces from the fire and gazed about them. It was pitch dark, but all around them glowed millions of tiny lights, flittering here and there.
"Just fireflies," explained McCarty. "But watch. See that thin white mist rising from the ground?" As they watched, the white vapor rose higher, grew denser, and shrouded the land with a ghost-like shroud. The fireflies disappeared, the frogs ceased croaking, the owls' hooting died away, and all was still.
"Night has drawn its sheet over them, and they have gone to sleep," said McCarty whimsically.
"Hark!" exclaimed Walter. "What's that?"
"Hanged if I know," said McCarty, puzzled. "It's coming closer all the time, whatever it is."
Itwas strange sounds coming out of the mists that had drawn the lads' attention. They were not kept long in suspense as to the nature of the noises, for it soon became plain that they were human voices, one shrill and piercing, the other deep and guttural. Nearer they drew, until out of the white vapor loomed a huge, grotesque object, which gradually resolved itself into a big covered wagon, drawn by four gaunt oxen. In the front of the wagon sat an Indian woman, urging the weary beasts on with whip and shrill cries. Behind the wagon walked a huge, powerful Indian, closely followed by a mass of pigs, cattle and goats, which were urged on from the rear by a pack of mongrel dogs, of all sizes and colors. With much squealing of pigs, barking of dogs, and cries from the squaw, this strange equipage came to a stop in front of the camp.
The two boys advanced to the road to meet the visitors.
"Hello," Walter greeted them.
"Hello," returned the Indian. "No can get by big machine?"
"No," said McCarty, "I'm afraid you can't. Machine right in road, deep ditches both sides, plenty mud. Back one mile is a road that circles around the machine. You understand?"
The Indian nodded comprehension. "No can find road at night. Me camp here."
"All right," Walter assented. "When you get unhitched, come over to camp fire and have something to eat."
The two boys rummaged around in the cook tent and got out a can of salmon, one of corned beef, and a box of crackers, which they carried out to the camp fire. The Indian was there awaiting them. "She unhitch oxen," he explained.
Walter grinned. "Indian man no work?" he inquired.
"No work," agreed the Seminole.
"Your squaw?" asked the interested lad.
"No, sister," and a gleam of interest shone on the Indian's impassive face. "You want squaw?" he demanded.
"No," said Walter hastily, while McCarty laughed.
"Sister strong, work good, cook good, too," recommended the Seminole seriously.
"Why don't you get a squaw yourself?" McCarty demanded.
"Sister got tongue sharp as knife point," admitted the Indian sadly. "She and squaw would fight and fight and fight with their tongues, and there would be no peace in the camp for its master."
Her task performed, the Indian girl now approached the fire. She was pretty for an Indian. Like all Seminole girls, she wore a waist of bright colors, a skirt of calico of many hues, and beaded moccasins on her feet. She was frankly unembarrassed and smiled around at her hosts in evident friendliness.
Walter opened the cans and handed them and the crackers to the girl. "No meal cooked in big tent," he explained. "To-morrow morning have plenty hot grub."
The two ate silently and hungrily, and as soon as they had finished departed for their wagon with a brief "Good-by."
"They never even said thanks," McCarty commented.
"An Indian never expresses his gratitude in words," Walter explained, "but they never forget a favor done them. If we ever happen near that fellow's camp, he will bring in some present, such as venison or pork. Well, it is time we were turning in. The Captain has been asleep for hours."
Chris awoke all hands next morning at daylight by beating on a tin pan. He had breakfast all ready by the time they were washed and dressed.The Seminoles had already hitched up their oxen, and, seated by the cook tent, were patiently waiting for the promised meal.
The boys invited them to seats at their own table, and were surprised to note that they seemed perfectly at ease, handling knife and fork.
The meal was quickly dispatched, and the Indians, with a brief "good-by," departed to pick up the road they had passed in the night, and the boys hastened out to the machine, while the Captain, with his negro helpers, resumed the work of cleaning up the camp.
Walter quickly picked up the knack of firing, and, after he had mastered its principles, McCarty, standing by his side, permitted him to handle the two levers that controlled the great steel bucket. Simple as it looked to be when he watched McCarty do it, Walter soon found that it required both quickness and coolness to handle only these two levers out of the many before him. He repeated the operation of raising, lowering, digging, and dumping several hundred times, gaining more quickness, sureness, and certainty with each operation.
"You're going to learn quickly," McCarty said. "I am sorry, but we can do no more to-day. If you'll look back at your water gauge you'll see that there are only a few inches of water left in your boiler. Filling it is too big a job for us totackle alone, so you might as well rake out your fire, and we will go back to camp."
"I say," he continued, as Walter threw open the furnace door and raked out the blazing billets of wood with an iron rake, "it's only nine o'clock. What do you say if we go off on a little hunt for the balance of the day? It's likely to be the last chance we will have in many months."
"I'll go you," Walter agreed. "That is, provided the Captain does not need any help."
They found the Captain with his task nearly completed. "No, you can't help me any," he said. "The niggers will have everything done by noon. Go on and have your fun, lads, but be careful, and be sure to get back by dark."
The boys sought their tents, and got out their guns and game bags. By the time they were ready Chris had a lunch wrapped up for them, and they struck out into the open woods, with Bob, the dog, gamboling in front of them.
"Why, you have brought your rifle along with you," Walter exclaimed, noting his comrade's gun.
"Yes; one shotgun is enough," said his friend; "and I am in hopes that we may run on to some big game. I've seen plenty of signs of deer lately."
"I'll be contented if I can get a good bag of quail."
"Oh, you'll get them, all right," said McCarty confidently. "The woods are full of them, andBob is as good a bird dog as there is in the State of Florida. Look, he is at it already."
As if to justify the compliment paid him, Bob had stopped in front of a little oak thicket, and stood with head thrust forward and tail sticking straight out. He waited patiently in this attitude for the lads to approach.
"Get your gun ready, and I'll scare them up for you," McCarty said. "If you are not used to shooting on the wing just aim at the flock and blaze away when they rise."
He picked up a heavy stick and threw it into the thicket. With a whirling of wings a big covey of quail rose up from its center.
Walter fired one barrel after the other into the middle of the flock.
"Good!" exclaimed McCarty. "You got a dozen at least. Watch where the balance light. Here, Bob, fetch 'em out."
The dog rushed forward, but stopped at the edge of the thicket.
"Fetch 'em out, Bob; fetch 'em out," encouraged the lad, but the dog turned back with drooping tail.
"There's something wrong in there," declared McCarty; "something the dog is afraid of."
"Well, I'm going in and get my quail," Walter said. "I'm not going to be cheated out of the first quail I ever killed."
"Hold on," said McCarty, "there's no telling what you may run up against. The thicket isn't over fifty feet across. Let's set fire to both sides of it, and one of us stand by each end. We ought to be able to kill whatever it is as it comes out."
"Good," Walter agreed. "I'll take my stand by this end, and you can take yours by the other."
In a few minutes the thicket was ablaze on both sides, while the two lads, with guns cocked, stood eagerly waiting the appearance of its occupant.
The thicket was all of small growth, and in a few minutes the fire had swept it clear to the ground, leaving only here and there a few smouldering stalks of thicket growth. The dead quail lay scattered around on the ground, unhurt except for a slight singing of feathers.
"I guess Bob got a wrong hunch that time," Walter said, as he picked up his quail, of which there were thirteen.
"I'll bet on Bob every time," said McCarty. "There was something in here that he was afraid to tackle, and I'll bet if we look around long enough we'll find some trace of it."
"Look out!" said Walter. "There it is, right in front of you."
A fewfeet in front of McCarty lay a little mound of soft dirt, thrown up by a gopher when digging its hole down deep into the earth. It was the stirring of this mound of sand that had called forth Walter's exclamation.
The boys watched, fascinated, as the sand trembled more violently, and a big, flat head, with lidless eyes, reared itself above the dirt. At sight of the repulsive-looking head, both boys fired, and the head dropped back, nearly severed from its body.
"Gracious!" exclaimed Walter, as they pried the rest of the body from the sand with their gun barrels. "Did you ever see one like it in your life?"
"I never saw such a monster before, and I don't believe anyone else ever did," agreed McCarty, as he gazed down at the beautiful, diamond-marked body of the huge rattlesnake, for such it was.
Walter measured the body with his gun barrel, while McCarty counted the rattles at the tip of the tail.
"It's eight feet two inches long," Walter announced. "No one will ever believe that we killed a rattle of that size."
"Well, here is one way to convince them," said McCarty, as, with his knife he severed the rattles from the body. "They can't doubt that it was a whopper. Here's twenty-four rattles and a button, which shows that it was twenty-four years old."
"My, but I would like to get that skin off," Walter said, longingly. "It's a beauty, but I'm afraid to skin it."
"Yes, it would be risky," agreed McCarty, who, like his companion, was well versed as a hunter. "It may have bitten itself when the fire was going over it. But come, let's move on. The sport is only just beginning. Did you notice where that covey of quail settled?"
"Yes," Walter said, "they went down in that bunch of spruce over there. Bob is nosing them up already."
The lads followed up the sniffing dog, and out of the rise Walter got seven more birds. "That makes twenty," he observed. "That's enough for supper, and there is no use killing more than we can use. I've got some buckshot cartridges. Let's try and find some bigger game. You've had no fun at all, so far. I've been having it all. Which is the best way to go?"
"I don't really know," said McCarty. "I have never hunted far from camp out here, but, I fancy, straight ahead is as good as any. I climbed way up on the machine's boom the other day and tooka good look over the country. Say, it's the craziest looking country you ever saw. It's a regular Chinese puzzle of stretches of prairie, ponds, bits of flat woods, hummocks, and even little hills rising up suddenly from the prairie. It's a queer country, all right. Looks as though there might be any kind of game in it. Hang it, there goes that fool, dog again. Won't he ever learn a lesson?"
Bob, barking madly, had dashed into a little thicket a few paces ahead.
"Hold on!" McCarty cried, as Walter started forward with cocked gun. "Bob, Bob," he yelled. "Come here; come here, you fool."
But the dog did not instantly obey. Instead, from the thicket came the sound of a fierce struggle.
"What can be in there?" Walter asked anxiously. "It sounds as though Bob was getting the worst of it."
"He is, and he isn't," grinned the other. "Just wait a minute and you will see what I mean."
Walter did not have long to wait. Soon a few short barks announced that Bob had triumphed, and a moment later the dog emerged from the bushes, but not before a villainous odor had reached the boys' nostrils. So strong and sickening it was, that the lads retreated in haste.
"Get out of here; go home," ordered McCarty angrily. "Go home, you fool."
Bob stopped and eyed him reproachfully; then,as if in obedience to an oft-repeated lesson, he turned around and trotted back to camp.
McCarty chuckled as he gazed after him. "That's Bob's one failing," he said. "He will go out of his way to tackle a pole-cat. As soon as the scent of one battle wears off he goes out and seeks another. Seems like a regular mania with him. I sure hope he will not do as he did last time—when he went back to camp, sneaked into my tent and went to sleep on my cot. Whew! I had to burn my blankets and fumigate my tent before I could sleep in it again, but I guess I had better shut up. If we talk as we go along, we will never get near a deer."
Thus far the boys had been traveling through low, flat woods, scantily dotted with small pine trees and little thickets of spruces and oaks, but soon they began to enter an entirely different kind of country. Before them stretched a vast prairie, covered with grass and broken here and there by rising hummocks, densely wooded with pines, oaks and huge tropical trees. Every few hundred yards they saw grass ponds, or little sandy-bottomed lakes of crystal-clear water. Beside one of these little lakes the lads stopped to eat their lunch. It was full of fish of all sizes.
"I wish Chris was here," Walter observed. "He would have the time of his life yanking out those big fellows."
"Oh, he can get all the fishing he wants right close to camp," McCarty said. "I never saw such a country for fish in my life. Any hole that is deep enough to hold water is full of fish. Even the ditches the machine has left behind are full of little minnows already."
The lunch finished and washed down by draughts of clear, cold water from the lake, the lads began searching around its sandy shore for deer signs. They found animal tracks in abundance, and were amazed at the number of different kinds—coons, wild-cats, foxes, deer, bears—all seemed to have made the little lake their drinking place, and, in one place, they came upon the padded footprint of a panther.
"My, I wish we could put in a week hunting around this little lake," said McCarty regretfully. "We could make a shelter not far away and take stands here at night. But, wishing don't accomplish much, so I guess we might as well be pushing on. Without a dog our only chance is to work up against the wind and keep our eyes open."
They had traveled about two miles in this manner when Walter suddenly stopped. "Look ahead, there," he exclaimed. "Can't you see something rising up a little above the grass?"
"By George, you beat me to it," McCarty acknowledged. "It's a deer's antlers. The deer must be lying down resting, or we would see itsbody from here. It's hands and knees for us now. We had better keep together and make as little noise as we can. A deer's hearing is keen."
It was slow, hard work, crawling forward in this manner, but in the excitement the boys did not notice the strain it put on hands and knees. From time to time they would raise their heads cautiously and peer ahead, to see if the deer was still there. An hour and half of this slow traveling brought them to within a few hundred yards of the resting animal; then it suddenly arose, and sniffed the air suspiciously, with its head thrown back.
"Don't move," McCarty whispered. "It's beginning to scent danger."
The boys lay quiet for several minutes; then slowly raising their heads, took another peep. The deer still stood broadside to them, sniffing the air.
"It's no use trying to get any closer," Walter whispered softly. "It's ready to run at any minute. Better try a crack at it with your rifle. I'll get up on my knees and you can get a rest on my shoulder."
McCarty noiselessly obeyed, and, taking careful aim, fired.
"I got him," he shouted, as the deer sank to its knees, but, even as he spoke, the deer was up again and off like a flash. McCarty, taken unawares, had to stop to eject the worthless shell and throw ina new one, by which time the deer was far away, running in great bounds over the prairie.
Walter could not refrain from laughing at the expression on the other's face. "Counted your chickens before they were hatched," he chuckled.
"Oh, I got him all right!" declared his companion confidently. "Look at the blood on the grass. He can't run far before he drops. See, he is beginning to falter now."
All the while they had been talking the boys had been hurrying after the deer, which, although a good mile away, was still in plain sight. Within five minutes after McCarty spoke, it suddenly disappeared.
"It's down," McCarty cried. "Let's hurry as fast as we can. It's getting late, and we are a good eight miles from camp."
When they reached the deer it was dead. The bullet had passed through the body close to the heart. McCarty produced a cord from his game bag, and, tying its front legs to its hind ones, slung the deer upon his back. "If you'll bring my gun, I'll manage the deer," he said. "It's a rule of the chase that each man shall bring in his own kill."
Walter slung the rifle over his shoulder. "I'll spell you when you get tired," he offered.
"I am not likely to get tired. The only thing I'm afraid of is that we are not going to be able to make camp before dark, and, for certain reasons, I hate to camp in this country overnight."
McCartytook the lead, and, without hesitation, struck out due north.
"Why, you're going the wrong way," Walter exclaimed, "or at least it seems the wrong way to me. How do you know you're headed right?"
McCarty grinned. "I spent lots of my spare time hunting," he explained, "and most of it was done in a worse country than this, where one could get lost within a couple of hundred yards of camp. That kind of hunting develops a kind of direction instinct, as hunters call it, but which is really a habit of observation. Now I have taken note of every turn we have made to-day, and, although we are not going back the way we came, I'll guarantee that we'll come out within a hundred yards of camp. But I guess I had better stop bragging. I need all my wind to handle this deer."
It soon became evident that McCarty was right, and that they were not going to be able to make camp before dark. Indeed, they had covered notmore than three miles of the distance when darkness descended upon them.
"It's a little risky, but I guess we can push on until the white mist rises," said McCarty, as they halted for a moment to rest. "The moon is bright enough for us to pick our way now, but when the mist rises we will have to make camp for the night. I couldn't trust myself to find my way through the fog."
"I don't mind a night out," Walter said, "but I hate to have the Captain worrying about us."
"Same here," agreed McCarty. "But that cannot be helped now. Let's push on again, and get as far as we can."
"Well, let me take the deer for a while," Walter urged.
"Well, I don't mind if you do, for a few minutes," McCarty admitted. "I've carried many a one twice this distance, but that was in the day time. This trying to pick trail and carry too is sure getting my goat."
They had not proceeded far before McCarty stopped again. "If I am not badly fooled, there's a campfire right ahead of us," he said. "See that faint glow there in the darkness."
"Good," Walter said. "We can perhaps camp for the night with them, whoever they are."
"Maybe," agreed his companion doubtfully. "If they are Indians, it is all right, but I am suspiciousof white men I meet in this country. We can keep on for a ways, then one of us had better go ahead and investigate before we walk in on them."
"That's my part of the job," Walter exclaimed. "I'm a pretty fair scout, if I am not much of a woodsman."
"No," contested McCarty. "I'm better used to the kind of people we have in this part of the country than you are."
"Let's not quarrel about it," laughed Walter. "We can both go. Whoever they are, they are not likely to hear us above the din of the frogs and owls."
As the boys drew nearer to the campfire they became silent, lest the sound of their voices should make their presence known. When some two hundred yards from its glow, they left the deer behind and crept forward on hands and knees.
It was well that they had used such precautions, for the appearance of the group around the campfire was not reassuring. It consisted of three white men and one negro. The four were sprawled around the fire, over which a large turkey was hung to roast, and the firelight lit up four of as villainous looking faces as ever existed. The boys crept close enough to distinguish their features and hear the conversation that was going on.
The negro, whose face was scarred by several knife wounds, was speaking.
"I'se done getting tired ob dis," he was saying. "I don't like dis hangin' around in de woods day atter day adoing nothin'. What for dat white man send us out in dese woods foah if he don't want us to do nothin'?"
"Shut up," said one of his white companions curtly. "You've got no cause to kick. If he hadn't bribed the guard at the convict camp to let you escape, you would be working hard gathering turpentine yet."
"You ain't got no call to talk. I reckon you was in as bad a fix as me. Worser, 'cause de guard was just layin' foah a chance to put de whip on youah back."
"You two stop fussing," said the second white man in the group. "We are all escaped convicts, one no better than the other. A man helped us to escape, and sent us out here with a couple of months' grub and instructions to wait his orders. That suits me. I ain't anxious to go around any town until I get new clothes and my hair grows out, so I will not be spotted as an ex-convict. I'm willing to do what he says and wait for his orders."
"Same here," agreed the fourth man. "I don't know the boss' business, but I figure that he don't want to use violence to stop the building of that road unless he has to. He put Murphy out of business pretty quick by spending a little moneywith the engineers. Likely he's waiting to see if he can't work some such trick on the new concern before he tries any rough work."
"Why don't he want the road built?" inquired one of his companions.
"Give it up. I reckon he's just an agent for some big corporation," said the other. "I ain't worrying my head about it. What I want is new clothes and some money, and I reckon we will get both if we do as the boss tells us to do."
The talk drifted round to other topics, and the two lads crept silently back to the deer, and, shouldering it, circled around the convicts' camp, being careful to give it a wide berth. It was not until they had placed a full half mile between themselves and the convicts that they ventured to speak aloud, and by that time the white mist had begun to rise, and McCarty stopped near a clump of small spruces.
"No use trying to go any farther," he said. "Let's make camp here in these spruces. We can cut some boughs and make a comfortable bed in a few minutes."
The spruce thicket really made a comfortable camping place. The dense growth of spruce shut out the dampness, and the ground beneath them was thickly carpeted with fragrant pine needles. In a few minutes the boys had cut enough small boughs to make a comfortable bed. They weretoo utterly weary to light a fire and cook any of their game. They still had part of their lunch left, and, as soon as it was eaten, they lay down on their couch with sighs of relief.
"That was sure a tough-looking bunch back there," said McCarty, as he stretched out his weary limbs.
"And, judging from their conversation, they don't mean any good to us," Walter commented.
"It's queer, but I've felt all the time that some outside influence was holding back this road building, but it was only a hunch, and I could not be sure about it. Those fellows' talk to-night proves my hunch was right."
"The agent at Jupiter hinted that the Southern Dredging Co. might make us trouble," Walter remarked.
"The agent is mistaken," said McCarty, decidedly. "I worked for that company for years, and, while they will try to crush any company that gets in their way, they certainly would not take the trouble to go out of their way to crush a little concern like ours. No, there's some other reason for the trouble we've been having. Well, it's no use worrying. We had better go to sleep and get what rest we can. We will have to work to-morrow if your chum gets back with a new crew."
The two weary lads were soon sound asleep, and did not awaken until break of day. As itgrew lighter, they were delighted to see the camp only three miles away. McCarty had made good his boast. He had come in a straight line from where they had killed the deer. In an hour's time they reached the camp, where Chris and the Captain were overjoyed to see them back.
"If you hadn't shown up early this morning I would have been out hunting for you," the old sailor declared. "Chris and I didn't sleep much last night."
"I'm glad you didn't start out," said Walter, with a grin, "for then we would have had to turn around and hunted you up. Chris, cut off some venison steaks and fry them for us, please. We are as hungry as wolves."
As soon as breakfast was over the two lads went out to the machine and took the pump to pieces, so as to have it ready for putting in the new parts Charley was expected to bring back with him. This was all they could do until he arrived with a new crew, so they returned to the camp and lounged around, chatting with the Captain and Chris until they heard the truck coming in the distance, when they went out to the road to meet it. As it came in sight they could see that it was loaded with men.
"He's got them all right," Walter exclaimed with delight.
"Yes," agreed McCarty, "he's sure got a load ofthem. Gosh, I hope they are the right kind. If they are, we will soon get things running smooth and good."
As the truck drew near, they could see two white men on the seat beside Charley, while the body of the car was filled with well-dressed men with black eyes and hair and rather dark complexions.
McCarty gave a whoop of delight.
"Bully for your chum!" he said. "He's got some of the best class of laborers that work in Florida."