Walter's first feeling was of horror and indignation, mingled with frank admiration for the cleverness with which Charley had reasoned the matter out to its logical conclusion.
"You have got a great head on you, old chap," he said, affectionately. "It certainly seems as though you have hit the nail on the head this time. I understand, now, why their leader was so anxious to have us move away. They expect to encounter the Indians somewhere in this neighborhood and they do not want any witnesses. What shall we do, Charley?"
"We are in an unpleasant fix," said his chum, musingly. "The only safe thing to do, I guess, is to take that convict's advice and move away at once. If we interfere with their plans or even let on that we know what they are, it will mean fight, with us outnumbered three to one."
"But we can't leave here and let those fiends ambush and murder those unsuspecting Indians," said Walter indignantly.
"Certainly not," said his chum, heartily. "But we must be prepared to take some risks. We can't fight that crowd in the open, they are too many for us. We'll have to outwit them and put the Indians on their guard without letting the convicts suspect that we have had a finger in the pie. It would be an easy trick to turn if it were not for that renegade Indian with them. I guess there isn't anything much that escapes those black, beady eyes of his."
"You have a plan then?" said Walter eagerly.
"One, such as it is. You see, we are between those fellows over there and the Everglades. A party of savages coming from the Glades would have to pass us before coming in rifle range of the convicts' camp. Now we could halt them here and explain matters, but that would give us dead away to the enemy."
Walter's face fell. "They would be sure to catch on," he admitted.
Charley pointed far to the south where, half a mile distant, another long point jutted out through the marsh into the river. "That is the key to the situation," he declared. "The Seminoles are not expected until to-morrow, if that man's remarks are true. Well, beginning to-morrow morning early, one of us will be on that point while daylight lasts,—Indians do not generally travel at night, and when we sight them we will signal and warn them, and the convicts will be none the wiser. The Seminoles are no cowards and we can join them and wipe that scum of humanity off the face of the earth."
"Splendid," approved Walter enthusiastically. "But let's head for camp now. The others will be wondering what has become of us."
At the camp a surprise awaited the two boys. The captain was stumping back and forth near the fire, his usually good-natured face nearly purple with suppressed anger, while, squatting on his heels before the fire, sat Indian Charley, his face impassive but his keen beady eyes watching the irate sailor's slightest movement.
At the sight of the boys, the captain lumbered towards them, waving a dirty piece of paper. "Read that," he roared, "just brought in by that copper-faced, shoe-button-eyed son of a sea cook."
It was a piece torn evidently from a paper bag and on it was scrawled in big, almost undecipherable characters.
"The shootin' an' racket you-alls are doin' air drivin' the 'gators away. You-alls have got to move. This is our huntin' ground. For sake of that tobacco, which comes mighty handy, we'll give you-alls 'till to-morrow noon to move peaceable afore we comes down on you, hands and feet."
"How's that for gall?" demanded the captain, his wrath increasing, but Charley silenced him with a shake of his head and turned to the impassive redskin. "Tell your leader, that we are figuring on making a move to-morrow," he said, courteously. The Seminole's beady orbs met his in a suspicious glance, then he turned without a word and glided noiselessly away among the bushes.
Walter and Charley exchanged significant glances. "That means they do not expect them before to-morrow afternoon," Charley commented.
"Who! expecting who? Don't talk in riddles, lads," exclaimed the captain, testily, his temper still suffering from the unaccustomed restraint he had put upon it.
In a few words Charley related his suspicions to him and Chris, and detailed the plan he and Walter had agreed upon.
The captain's face beamed with unenvious admiration as he gave Charley a hearty thump on the back that well-nigh drove the breath out of the lad's body.
"Reasoned out plain an' fair as day," he exclaimed, "I reckon you've hit it right plum center first shot, lad. You bet we'll be on the watch to warn them poor Indians, an' if there's any fightin' we'll sho' help to rid this country of them ornary, low-down, murderin', cut-throats. It's a great head you've got for young shoulders, Charley. You've reasoned it out like a detective and made your plans like a general."
Charley blushed with pleasure. "It looks logical and I hope it will work out all right," he said, secretly pleased at the tribute to his mental powers. But, as a great detective or general sometimes does, Charley had passed over the simple, vital, obvious point that was the most important of all and from its omission, destined to be far reaching and terrible to hunters, Indians and convicts.
"There's nothing special to do this morning," said Walter, "so let us make a trip to that point and pick out a good place for our lookout."
"Judging from their actions and their note, our neighbors don't intend to make a move against us until to-morrow, so I guess it will be safe for all of us to go," said Charley. "We will take the guns and make a kind of all day hunting trip."
"Den, I spect dis nigger's got to rustle around an' fix up some lunch," said Chris, his face falling. "Golly, I spect you-alls going to be powerful hungry nigh noon."
"No, this is going to be a holiday for all of us," declared Walter with boyish enthusiasm. "For one day let's all be just like the Indians, get our food with out guns and not even take a frying-pan with us."
To Chris' great delight the others gave ready assent to the plan. The horses were watered and staked in fresh spots, and, with guns over shoulders, our party followed their point in to shore, then struck off southward along the margin of the marsh toward the distant point, destined to be Point Lookout.
They found it much like their own point, but somewhat more heavily wooded.
"Here's the very place for our lookout," exclaimed Walter, pausing beside a clump of great oaks. "See, it couldn't be better if it had been made to order. This knoll commands a good view of the marshes and river towards the Everglades, while those trees will hide the watcher from our point, and of course from the convicts' camp. I have got a big, red, bandanna handkerchief which we can use as a flag. When the one on watch sees the Indians coming, he can fasten it to that dead sapling further out. That will be a signal to those in camp to get ready for a hot time."
"Bravo," said the captain approvingly. "You have got the right course logged out to a point by the compass. Steer as you are going, lad, and you'll have stored in your head as well packed and sorted a cargo as good as Charley's here."
"Or me, or me, Massa Captain," chimed in Chris. "Golly, I reckon you-alls don't know what a smart nigger I is when I gets de chance."
"We are all wonders, in our own minds," laughed Charley. "We have got a chance to show our smartness right now. I, for one, am getting mighty hungry and we haven't bagged anything for dinner yet."
"We are for the woods, then," cried Walter, "on, noble leader. Shall we separate or go together?"
"We must stick together, provided you will try to keep that mouth of yours closed and quit guying me," Charley retorted. "If not, I shall feel it my duty to take you across my knee and give you a good spanking."
Walter checked the ready sally which was on his tongue's end, for they had been moving on while talking and Charley was now leading them into the dense forest where silence was absolutely necessary if they hoped to secure any game.
For some time they picked their way carefully through the forest, warily avoiding dry twigs, and maintaining an absolute silence. But although they saw numerous signs of game, both large and small, not a glimpse of even a rabbit or squirrel rewarded their eager watchfulness.
At last when all were beginning to get a bit discouraged, Charley called a halt. "Now, all of you listen hard as you can for a few minutes and then tell me what you hear," he said.
For a full minute his companions listened intently, then the captain gave an exclamation of disgust. "Can't hear anything out of the usual," he declared.
"Once or twice I thought I heard something, but I guess it was only my imagination," said Walter.
"And you, Chris?" inquired Charley of the little darky, whose face wore a puzzled expression.
"Golly, dis nigger hear something powerful plain but he can't just make it out. Don't sound like anything he ever heard, afore. Now hit sounds like a big dog growling an' then again hit sounds like one whinin'."
"Your ears are pretty good, Chris," Charley commented. "I guess we'll follow up that sound for a little while."
"Are you working one of your little surprises on us?" Walter inquired eagerly of his chum as the little party again advanced in the direction Chris indicated. "Come, confess now that you know what is ahead of us."
"I am all at sea this time," admitted Charley. "I heard just what Chris described, but I can't fit the sounds to any animal I know. It's getting plainer now, surely you can hear it."
"Yes," said Walter, with a puzzled frown, "but what under the sun, moon, and stars can it be?"
"A few minutes will settle the question. It's only a little ways off now. My! it's getting to be a terrible din, we must be close at hand." Charley's prophecy soon proved true for they suddenly came out of the forest into a space which had evidently been fire-swept years before, for it was bare of undergrowth and of the former mighty pines nothing remained but the white, lifeless trunks.
For a moment the hunters stood in the edge of the clearing, gazing in speechless astonishment at the sight before them.
Close to one of the largest of the dead pines was a large black bear, reared back on his haunches and striking with both paws viciously at some unseen foe. The hair of muzzle, head and paws was matted and plastered with some thick liquid, giving him a curious frowsy appearance. He was evidently in a towering rage but it was also apparent that he was suffering great pain, his ferocious growls being interspersed with long, low, pathetic whines.
"He acts as though he had gone crazy," exclaimed Walter, recovering his speech.
At sound of his voice, the bear's head turned in their direction. With a growl of fury he dropped to all fours and with incredible speed made for the hunters.
Charley had been quick to take in the meaning of the strange scene.
"Shoot and run," he shouted, as the maddened animal charged.
He, Walter and the captain shot almost at once. The shots struck home but the sorely wounded beast still lumbered forward at a rapid pace.
"Run," shouted Charley, striking into the forest at the top of his speed, closely followed by the captain and Walter. They had run but a few paces before Walter, who was in the rear, stopped suddenly. "Chris has stayed," he shouted to the others, "we can't leave him."
Almost as rapidly as they had fled, the three retraced their steps to the edge of the clearing.
"Stay where we are and watch," commanded Charley, with a grim smile. "The bear's too badly hurt to be dangerous. Watch him, fellows, just watch."
Chris had knelt where he had been standing when the bear charged, had rested his rifle on his knee, and was taking careful aim at the advancing beast. There was a look of stubborn determination on his little ebony face while his heart was beating with pride and exultation. Here was his great chance to turn the tables on his white companions. No longer would they dare tease him about running from the eel or about his adventure after the crane. He would be able now to twit them all, even the captain, with running away while he, Chris, stood his ground.
"Run, Chris, run," shouted Charley from the edge of the clearing, but the little darky ignored the warning.
His keen eyes could see that the bear was badly wounded and liable to drop at any minute. Already it was swaying drunkenly from side to side.
Now it was forty feet away, now thirty and almost ready to drop. Ten feet more and he would fire, Chris resolved. But that ten feet proved the ambitious little darky's undoing. A concentrated drop of buzzing liquid fire struck him above the eye, while hand and legs seemed splashed with molten fire. Down went the rifle with a thud and with a shrieked "Oh golly, oh golly, oh golly!" a black streak cleared the open ground with kangaroo-like leaps and shot into the forest.
"Run for the marsh and roll in the mud, Chris,"' shouted Charley after the streak.
The bear stumbled forward a few feet further, then sank slowly to the ground. Charley looked after the flying Chris, shaking with laughter, while the others stood beside him in silent amazement.
"Hold on a minute," said Charley, as the captain stepped forward toward the bear which was kicking, out in the last convulsive throes of death.
"Aye, aye," agreed the captain cheerfully, stopping short, "you're the pilot in these waters, lad."
"I promise you I will not keep you at anchor long, Captain," laughed Charlie, as with his hunting-knife he began hacking at a clump of scrub-palmetto.
A few minutes was all the time needed to accumulate a heap of the big, fan-like leaves. These Charley made into three torch-like bundles, taking care to place a dead dry leaf between each two green ones. Binding each bundle together with a wisp of green leaf, he struck a match and lit up the three, passing one to the captain and Walter, and keeping one himself.
The dry leaves blazed up like tinder but the green ones only smoldered, sending forth a volume of black, thick pungent smoke.
"Keep waving them about you," he cautioned, "that's the way. Now all ready. Forward, march."
As they drew nearer to the carcase of the hear, they became aware of a curious humming sound in the air. The cause was soon apparent and the mystery that had puzzled them was solved when they reached the beast. The carcase was covered with bees while close above it hummed a swarm of others watching for an exposed place to plant their stings.
A few minutes beating about with the smoking torches cleared the scene of the vicious little insects, those not stupefied by the smoke beating a hasty retreat back to their home in the hollow log which bruin had tried to despoil.
The hunters had now a chance to view their prize without being molested. It was only a common, black Florida bear, weighing not over four hundred pounds, but fat and in the pink of condition. Its thick, glossy fur had protected its body from the bees' assault, but swollen muzzle, eyes, and ears, told of the penalty it had paid in playing robber for its favorite food,—honey.
All fell to work with their hunting-knives and speedily had the heavy skin removed.
Walter smacked his lips as he cut away a couple of huge steaks with a thick rim of fat. "Gee, those are fit for a king," he exclaimed. "I wonder where our cook is. Do you suppose he has stopped running yet?"
Charley chuckled. "It's mean," he admitted, "but I can't help but laugh when I think of how he looked kneeling there in stern resolve to be covered with glory, and the transformation when he was covered with bees."
The three laughed heartily at the recollection, but Walter's laugh ended in a hungry sigh. "I wish he was here to cook these steaks. If he comes back, don't let's tease him, fellows. He's suffered enough for one time."
"I bet he will be back by the time we get this fellow cut up and a fire going," Charley said.
But the big animal was all cut up, what was not wanted for immediate use cut into thin strips for drying, and a roaring fire going, and still no sign of the missing one.
"Well, I guess we will have to cook some of it the best we can, although I expect we'll make a sorry mess of it without Chris. I guess broiling some of it will be the easiest way."
Each cut himself a long, green palmetto stem which would not take fire readily and sharpened one end to a point upon which he impaled a generous slice of steak. With flushed faces and singed fingers they kept turning the meat over and over before the blaze. It was an unsavory mess, burnt and ash covered, which they at last pronounced done and deposited upon a clean palmetto leaf. Hungry as wolves, each cut off a generous mouthful and began to chew. They chewed and chewed looking at each other with keen disappointment on their faces.
Walter at last spat out his mouthful in disgust. "It's tough as sole leather and about as tasteless. We even forgot the salt, too."
A little figure lurking behind a tree on the edge of the clearing evidently deemed this just the proper time to make its presence known, for it stepped boldly out from behind its shelter. Its right eye was closed tight by an enormous swelling, and its nose was twice its natural size, but it strode forward with head up and dignity in its tread.
"Chris," shouted in delight the three beside the fire.
The little darky looked down on the pile of burnt and ruined meat in disgust. "I knowed you chillen's would go an' spoil de best part ob my bear. Now you-all jis get out ob de way an' dis nigger goin' to show you how to cook b'ar meat."
"But it's so tough, Chris, that we can't chew it," Walter objected.
"You chillens jes get out of de way like I tells you," said the little negro vaingloriously. "Just come back in forty minutes an' dinner will be ready. Leave dis nigger alone 'till then 'cause he's powerful cross to-day."
Charley nudged the captain and Walter and the three withdrew to a little distance, leaving Chris in possession of the field.
"Chris will fix it up all right," Charley assured them. "While he's at it, let's have a try for some of the honey the bear was into," he suggested.
His two companions gave an eager assent.
Three more torches of palmetto leaves were quickly made, lighted up, and, with extra handfuls of the green leaves, our party advanced towards the tree where they had first seen the bear. They were met by a buzzing horde of the workers who swarmed out to defend their homes, but these were soon silenced by the pungent smoke of the torches and our hunters soon stood by the tree where bruin had met his Waterloo.
A few feet from the ground was a massive limb and a little above it was a cavity in the trunk itself, around which more bees buzzed industriously. A few waves of the smoke torches quieted these, and Charley swung himself up on the limb beside the hole. A little more smoke completed the job and with his hunting-knife he dug out great squares of the clear, dripping comb, which he passed down to his companions who had stripped off a slab of hickory bark for its reception.
"That is more than we can eat," he at last declared, slipping to the ground, "besides I've got a 'hunch' that Chris has got that bear meat ready for us and I am hungry as a wolf."
"It may be cooked all right but it will still be too tough to eat," mourned Walter.
"Don't you believe it," chuckled Charley, "those bear steaks are going to be as tender as chicken. If you will not give me away to Chris, I will show you the reason why."
The captain and Walter eagerly gave the promise of secrecy.
"See that shrub?" said the instructor, pointing to a banana-like stalk of a tree-like shrub without branches, but from which protruded large, round glossy leaves with short stems. Close to its trunk near the crown hung a close cluster of golden fruit about the size of an apple.
Walter plucked one of the ripe fruit and bit into it hungrily, but spat out the mouthful in disgust.
"You have to acquire a taste for it, the same as you have to for turtle eggs, olives, and a dozen other things that taste unpleasant at first," Charley said. "You'll find that little tree scattered all over Florida where the soil is at all rich. It is called pawpaw by the natives, who regard it highly for the sake of its one peculiar virtue. A few drops of the juice of its ripe fruit spread over a tough Florida steak will in a few minutes, make it as tender as veal. The same results can be attained by wrapping the steak in the leaves and letting it lay a slightly longer time. The best of it is that meat treated in this manner is not injured in the slightest. In fact it seems to gain in flavor from the treatment. But there is Chris waving to us. Keep quiet about the pawpaws. I want to hear his explanation."
They were too hungry to lose any time in obeying Chris' signals. The little darky had arranged a kind of tablecloth of moss on the ground and had put upon it slabs of clean cut bark for plates, while upon each rude plate reposed a thick, juicy, bear steak, done to a turn. The steak was delicious and tender as chicken and with a taste all its own.
"You're a born cook, Chris," declared Walter, as he paused to take a full breath. "What makes it so tender, now? that which we cooked was tough as leather."
"You chillens doan know how to cook like dis nigger," declared the vain little darky, proudly. "Hit's all in de cookin', Massa Walter, hit's all in de cookin'."
Charley turned over a morsel of his steak, examined it closely and sniffed it critically, while Chris watched him with anxious suspicion, and Walter with mischief dancing in his eyes.
Slowly Charley's eyes took on an absent, far-away look, his arms and legs seemed to stiffen, and a tremor ran through his limbs. Chris watched him with distending eyeballs.
"I see," Charley said, in a low, hollow voice, "I see a tree, not a big tree, but a small one. It has round, green leaves and a cluster of golden fruit near the top. What is it I see creeping toward the tree, a monkey? No, not a monkey, though it looks like one. It's a boy, a small black boy. He nears the tree. He looks around to see if anyone is watching. He shins up the tree and breaks off several of the leaves. I see him again near a big fire. He still has the leaves. He is wrapping them around pieces of meat. As he does it, I can hear him chuckling to himself. I see——"
"Oh golly, stop him, stop him! He's got de 'haunts'!" cried Chris in terror, as he grabbed Charley by the shoulder and shook him wildly.
Charley seemed to come to with a start. "Where was I, what was I saying?" he murmured.
"You was filled wid de haunts," declared Chris solemnly. "You was jes' tellin' to yourself how dis shiftless, lying nigger got dem pawpaw leaves to make dis bar meat tender."
Walter and the captain were roaring with laughter, but Chris went on solemnly with his confession. "Golly, but dis nigger's been a powerful liar lots ob times, but you doan ketch him at it any more. You sho' is got de conjerer eye, Massa Charley, else how you know dat lake wid de crane on it was full of grass like knives, else how you see bees round dat bear when you is too far off to see 'em, else how you see Chris getting dem pawpaw leaves when you is clean out ob sight. I guess dis nigger doan lie any more when you is round, Massa Charley."
"Well, if you are all through, we had better make back for camp for the sun is getting low," said Charley, hurriedly, to forestall a lecture on the wickedness of lying, which he saw by the working of the captain's features, he was preparing to deliver to the little culprit.
Their things were quickly collected together and they were soon headed back to their point. With the passing of the excitement of the day, they all began to have vague alarms as to what might have happened during their absence, and to reproach themselves for leaving the place so long unguarded.
Their reproaches were wasted, however, for they found everything as they had left it, save stuck in the bark of a pine tree near the fire, was the badly scrawled notice. "Don't forget to pull out from these diggin's afore to-morrow noon."
"They evidently mean business," said Walter, as the hunters stood together reading the dirty, ill-written paper.
"And I'm not so sure but what we would be wiser if we obeyed their warning, but I hate to run away from such a crowd," observed Charley gravely.
"I feel the same way," agreed Walter, "but it would be cowardly to go now and leave the Seminoles to their fate."
"Aye, aye, lad, truly spoken," said the captain, firmly, "stay we must."
"Golly, I jis guess dis nigger ain't none scairt of their threatenings," chimed in Chris.
"Well, we seem to be pretty well agreed," Charley said, trying in vain to shake off the vague feeling of impending evil, that had suddenly settled over him. "Speaking for myself, I feel too keyed up and anxious to do anything much until we get this thing over with. I move we get all our gear into shape and try to plan some way to get the plume birds hereafter without killing. That will take us until dark, I guess. Then let's quietly take our blankets and move back into the forest a ways. Our neighbors may take a notion to pay us a visit without waiting for to-morrow."
The others readily agreed to this proposal and were soon busy trying to scheme out some means to take their feathered prey alive.
It was Chris who at last solved the problem.
"You know dat stuff we used puttin' dem boats together?" he demanded.
"A quick drying glue," exclaimed Charley, catching the idea at once.
"Golly, I should say hit was," grinned Chris, "hit dun stick my fingers together so tight that it peared like I'd never get 'em apart. Now doan you reckon by spreading hit thick-like on dem limbs whar dem birds roosts dat hit would hold 'em down till we-alls got ready to pry 'em off?"
"The lad's got the right idea, I reckon," allowed the captain. "We could fix the limbs up just before dusk and needn't bother about 'em any more until it was broad daylight."
The boys were unstinted in their praise of Chris' suggestion until the little darky forgot the humiliation of the day and was once more his bright, vain, cheery self.
As night shut down on the point, more wood was heaped upon the fire, a hasty lunch was made from the remains of dinner, and, taking their guns and blankets with them, our hunters stole off into the depths of the wood. They soon reached a little open spot that they had noted during the day. Their blankets were spread out upon the moss-covered ground close together so as to be encircled with the hair rope which Charley had brought to protect them from snakes while sleeping.
Before they wrapped themselves in their blankets, the captain offered up a fervent, simple prayer of thanks for past protection and a plea for blessings on the work before them on the morrow.
"How much of that glue stuff is there, Chris?" whispered Walter as they stretched out to rest.
"'Bout two quarts, I reckon."
"Pshaw, that will not last us any time," said Walter in disappointment. "It will be all gone in a week."
It was well for the lad's peace of mind that he could not look forward into the future and see how little of Chris's discovery was destined to be used.
All were awake early next morning, in fact, the captain and Charley had slept but little during the night. They were worried and anxious as to what the coming day would bring forth. As he lay awake during the long silent hours, Charley felt his burden of responsibility grow heavy indeed and doubts began to assail him as to the wisdom of the course he was pursuing. After all, there was yet time to retreat. He had only to say the word and his companions would willingly follow. His plans in remaining were built largely on guesswork and theory. If they worked out as he had reasoned, the Indians would be warned. With their aid the convicts could be surrounded, captured, and sent back to a coast town under guard. Some blood would likely be shed but not as much as if they were left free to run at large. But if his reasoning were wrong, if his plan for some unforeseen reason, failed,—the boy shuddered as he thought of himself and three companions pitted against twelve desperate ruffians, far away from any help or assistance. Deep down in his active brain some awakened cell was trying to send a message of warning, but it would not rise to his consciousness, he could not quite grasp it or its meaning. Thus tortured and worried, our young leader passed a weary night, and was relieved when dawn began to break and his companions to awaken.
As soon as it was light enough, they made their way back cautiously to the camp, where they found everything as they had left it. Evidently they had had no visitors during the night.
"Well, it was just as well to be on the safe side," Charley announced, "anything is liable to happen now. I guess while you make some coffee, Chris, I will stand guard at our wall. Walt, you make up two packages of provisions, say enough to do for a couple of days and put one in each of the canoes. Captain, if you will, please look over the outfits and pick out what we will be able to carry and what would be most useful to us if we should have to take to the canoes in a hurry. Don't be alarmed," he said cheerily, noting the grave look on the others' faces. "Things are going to go all right, but a good general always looks to it that he has a way of retreat ready. Now, as soon as Chris has coffee ready, we will have one last talk together about this thing." Shouldering his rifle, he made his way to the breastwork of fallen trees, where he paced back and forth until Chris came to relieve him for breakfast.
During the meal, Charley went over the whole puzzle again, explaining freely his doubts and fears, and the possibility of his whole chain of reasoning being wrong. "Now you know all I know about it," he concluded. "There is yet time to escape. If you say the word, we'll start in half an hour."
The captain shook his head gravely. "Your reasoning seems clear as print to me, lad. You have just brooded over it so long that it's natural you should begin to have doubts and fears. To me it's as sound as when you first gave it. That being so, we can't run an' leave them poor ignorant savages to be shot down maybe like snipe. It wouldn't be Christian like to go when that chance remains."
"Those are my sentiments exactly," said Walter eagerly.
"Good," Charley sighed in relief, "this shifts at least part of the responsibility from my shoulders. Now for our plans. Walter, I am going to put you to watch at Lookout Point to-day. If you see the Indians, signal them in and tell them of the whole plot against them,—there's sure to be one or more of them who understands English. As soon as you make them understand, lead them back through the woods till you get to the neck of the convicts' point, then post them behind trees and stumps so the convicts cannot get by them. Then fire two shots close together and we will be with you in ten minutes, and our birds will be caged. Have Chris fix you up a lunch, for the Indians are not likely to pass the point until afternoon." His voice sank from the crisp tone of command to a softer note, and his hand for a moment rested affectionately on his chum's shoulder as he continued. "I hate to send you out there alone, old chap, but I have got to stay here. The convicts may try to drive us out of this place this morning. No matter how much shooting you may hear, don't desert your post."
"But, if for some reason you want me, how am I to know?"
Charley reflected for a moment. "I have a couple of rockets in my saddle-bags," he said; "if I send up one, you may know it's a signal to come back. Now be sure to keep your eyes out for trouble as you near the point. No one can tell, now, what the situation may be."
The two chums silently clasped hands in a hearty, farewell grip, and Walter, picking up his rifle and some of the remnants from breakfast, vaulted the tree breastwork and with a cheery nod and wave of his hand to those left behind, quickly vanished in the forest.
Charley stood for a moment gazing after him with something like a mist in his honest brown eyes. "Dear old fellow," he murmured, "God grant that all will turn out well and that we may be safe together again before night falls."
The captain's voice brought him back from his musing. "Well, Charley," he sung out cheerily, "I've got together the things we can't well spare and distributed them between the canoes. I reckoned that was where you wanted 'em. What's the next orders, General?"
"Nothing, but to get our guns and all the spare ones, and take stands along the wall. Those fellows may try to drive us off this morning."
The captain grinned with satisfaction as he took his place behind the barricade.
"I reckon they'll have to be pretty smart to get on this point," he commented. "There's a tidy stretch of right open ground to be crossed before they reach here."
"I picked it out just for that reason," Charley admitted. "We can stand them off here during the day, but at night we cannot stop them, I fear."
"Aye, aye," nodded the captain thoughtfully, "that's the reason for fixing up the canoes."
Charley nodded in turn. "I hope we won't have to take to them," he said. "It would come hard to lose our ponies, our packs, and all that helps to make our camp life comfortable."
"We won't lose 'em," declared the captain, cheerfully. "This time to-morrow night we'll be safe and hearty sitting around the fire figuring up our share of the rewards they must be offering by this time for those pretty jail-birds."
This ended the conversation, for each took his position behind the tree barricade with all senses alert for any indications of an attack.
For long Charley kept shifting his gaze from the woods before him to the tall sapling on Lookout Point. At last a smudge of red showed near the sapling's top for a minute, then disappeared, and he gave a shout of relief. "Walter's there all right," he called to his companions, "I saw his signal."
The morning wore slowly away without a sign of their enemies.
"What have you figured out is the reason they ain't troubling us, Charley?" the captain called when the noon hour was at last reached.
"I have been studying over it for a long time, sir," the lad answered, "and have come to the conclusion that they have decided to postpone finishing us up until they have disposed of the Indians. I guess they are afraid that the noise of firearms would put the Seminoles on their guard if they happen to be within hearing. Anyway, I guess, we can spare Chris long enough to get us a lunch."
Chris lost no time in getting together a hasty dinner, which was as quickly disposed of by the sentinels.
From now on Charley kept his eyes anxiously on the distant point and sapling, hoping, longing, and expecting to catch a glimpse of the fluttering square of red which would wave the welcome news that Walter had sighted the Indian fleet.
One o'clock passed, two o'clock, three, and still no signal.
"Take it calm, lad, they'll be along soon," the captain said soothingly, to Charley, who was nervously pacing back and forth, his face drawn and anxious.
"For de Lawd sake, look over there by dem convicts' point. Oh, golly, oh golly!" cried Chris, suddenly.
Charley gave one glance and buried his face in his hands to shut out the coming horror. "Fool, fool that I was," he moaned. "Not to know that it would be the home-bound Indians loaded with plumes they would be laying for, not the empty handed ones coming out of the glades."
The captain was by his side in a second. "Don't take it hard, lad," he said, gently. "You done your best. We all stumbled into the same mistake. Look away for a minute, lad. It will soon be over, I dare say."
But Charley, though torn with regrets, took his hands from his face and gazed steadily at the tragedy nearing its climax.
Winding past the convicts' point in single file, came a long line of some thirty canoes, uncouth, shapeless things, each hewed out of a great cypress log. In the end of each an Indian stood erect plying a long pole which sent their clumsy looking crafts forward at surprising speed. Magnificent savages they were, not one less than six feet tall, framed like athletes, and lithe and supple as panthers.
One man in each boat was the rule, but in the leading canoe a young Indian lad was also squatted, in the bow.
With breathless suspense our hunters stood helpless to warn or help as the long line glided on to its fate.
Ten, twelve, fourteen, fifteen stole past the point. Then the horror of horrors happened.
From the point burst out a sudden cloud of flame and smoke. Six of the canoes in the lead and six in the rear of the long procession came to a sudden halt. Of their occupants, some crumpled up where they had stood like bits of flame-swept paper. Others pitched forward in the bottom of their crafts, while still others stood for a minute swaying from left to right like drunken men, to finally crash over the sides like fallen trees, taking their cranky crafts over with them in their plunge of death.
Only for a second was there confusion amongst the remaining canoes. Before the volley could be repeated, they had drawn closer together. Each Indian had dropped his pole, and seizing his rifle crouched low in the bottom of his craft, his keen eyes searching the point.
"They're heroes, that's what they are," cried Charley, his eyes flashing and cheeks aflame, "they are as good as dead if they stay, and yet they will not flee."
"Suicide, I call it," said the captain harshly, to conceal his emotion of horror and admiration. "But there's one there who is going to save his skin. See that young lad who was in the first canoe. He is poling away now that his companion has fallen."
"But not willingly," said Charley, who had been watching the little by-play, "did you see him pick up his gun? He wanted to fight, but the rest shouted and made signs to him till he put it down. I've got it," he exclaimed, "it was the chief in that canoe. They are trying to cover his retreat, poor fellows. They are what I call men."
There had been no cessation in the fighting while the captain and Charley were talking; flame and smoke continued to burst out from the point in almost a continuous stream, while those in the canoes were not inactive. Where an arm or leg showed to their hawk-like eyes, their rifles cracked sharply, to be generally rewarded with a howl of pain from some cutthroat who had been winged. But there could be but one end to such a battle. The convicts were well protected behind big trees, while the flimsy sides of their canoes afforded the brave little band of Seminoles almost no protection. Still they fought stubbornly on, answering shot with shot until the point and canoes were shrouded in a fog of smoke.
"They see the young Indian, they see him," cried Charley in an agony of suspense. "Look, look, they are all shooting at him."
The young Indian had passed out of the smoke pall, but his flight had not been undetected; some of the convicts, with an eye out for just such escapes, had drawn back to higher ground where they could see above the smoke which hung close to the water. These at once gave the alarm, and a shower of bullets began to rain around the dugout.
The Indian lad stood stoically at his poling, not even glancing back, and paying no more attention to the hail of bullets than if they were so many flies. The little Seminole seemed to bear a charmed life, bullets struck the pole he was handling, and again and again they sent out splinters flying from the sides of the dugout itself, but still he shoved steadily ahead.
"By the ghost of the Flying Dutchman," shouted the captain, "he is going to get away from them. Two hundred feet more and their bullets won't hurt if they hit."
"He's hit," cried Charley, a second later; "watch him."
The Indian lad had given a sudden, involuntary start and one hand went to his head, he sank to his knees, struggled to rise, then slowly and gently slipped down; a huddled heap in the bottom of his canoe, while an exultant yell rose from the convicts' camp.
Charley's face was white and haggard, but his voice was steady and cool as he turned to the captain. "Please go to my saddle-bags. You'll find two rockets there. Set them both off; that will bring Walter, and we will have need of him soon. I am going after that Indian and bring him in dead or alive. You and Chris had better mount guard again at the wall; those cut-throats will be here soon."
One look at Charley's face convinced the captain that remonstrances were useless, so, with a hearty squeeze of the lad's hand, he turned away to his duties.
Charley unmoored one of the canvas canoes and, taking his place in the stern, with a mighty shove of the paddle drove it far out into the stream.
"Massa Charley, my own Massa Charley, going to be killed," wailed Chris, giving way to his fears and grief with the emotionalism of his race.
The captain shook him vigorously. "Shut up," he said, roughly, partly to hide his own feelings, "Charley's comin' back without a scratch. The good Lord, I reckon, don't make lads as true and white as he to be killed off by a pack of jail vermin. Come to the wall as he told us to. Maybe we'll get a shot at those murderers before the day is done. Come along an' stop that blubberin'," and he grabbed the soft-hearted little darky by the arm and dragged him to the post.
The convicts were quick to see and interpret Charley's action, and their guns were quickly turned upon his frail craft. As he drew nearer the drifting dugout and came within range, a perfect hail of bullets splashed the water into foam around him. He did not falter or hesitate, but with long clean strokes of the paddle, sent his light little craft flying towards his goal. Perhaps it was this very speed that saved his life. Bullet after bullet pierced the thin canvas sides and one struck a corner of his paddle, tingling his arm and side like an electric shock. A few minutes of this furious paddling brought him to the bow of the dugout. Seizing its rawhide painter, he fastened the end to a seat in his own boat. Then taking the paddle again, he headed back to the point. The leaden hail fell as thickly as ever, but by crouching low he was shielded somewhat by the high sides of his tow. His return progress was now slow, but gradually he worked the two crafts out of the range of the convicts.
Walter had lost no time in getting back to camp at the call of the rockets, and was waiting at the water's edge to receive his chum.
"Haul both boats in and make them fast," Charley ordered as he wearily paddled in.
Walter waded out knee deep, and seizing the bow of each boat as it came in reach, drew it up on the shore, and taking the painter, quickly made them fast to a nearby pine.
"We have got some heavy, quick work ahead of us," Charley said quickly enough to forestall the volley of eager questions on the tip of his excited chum's tongue. "Every minute counts now. I dare not call either Chris or the captain away from their posts. Help me into the lean-to with these poor fellows, then get your gun and join the captain. Those murderers may be over here any minute now. They are bound for their own safety to let no witness of their horrible crime escape."
As he rose from his cramped crouching position, Charley got his first glance of the interior of the dugout and his face grew dark with anger towards those who had brought this thing to pass.
Prone on his face in the bottom lay a magnificent specimen of savage manhood. His height, when standing, could not have been less than six feet three. His shoulders were broad and clothed with great, powerful muscles. His body sloped away gracefully to a slim waist and straight, muscular limbs—the ideal body, striven for by all athletes. His dress was that usual to Seminoles on a hunt—a long calico shirt belted in at the waist, limbs bare, moccasins of soft tanned deer-skin, and a head-dress made of many tightly-wound crimson handkerchiefs bound together by a broad, thin band of polished silver. In the turban, now dyed a richer hue from the blood flowing from the warrior's shoulder, was stuck a large eagle feather, the insignia of a chief. At his feet, where he had crumpled down under the enemy's bullets, lay the Indian lad in a huddled heap. It did not need the tiny eagle feather in the diminutive turban to convince Charley's observant eye that it was a case of father and son, a chief and son of a chief.
All that we have taken so long to describe, Charley had taken in at one swift glance.
"Both are still living," he declared. "Run to the lean-to, Walt, and get a blanket. We will have to drag that big one up to the camp. It will be pretty rough, but it's our only way. We cannot carry him."
In a minute Walter was back with a thick, strong horse-blanket, which he spread out on the turf close to the water.
It took every ounce of strength the two lads possessed to lift the heavy body from the dugout to the blanket, then each taking a forward end of the blanket, they drew it gently after them sled-wise up to the lean-to, avoiding rough places as much as possible. There, they had to exert themselves to the limit of their strength to lift their burden from the blanket to one of the couches.
Their second trip was easier. The Indian lad, though showing promise of great future strength, was still only a stripling, and they bore his limp body in their arms without difficulty.