XIV
At noon on the second day I disembarked from the train at Citron Citywith all paraphernalia--cage, chemicals, arsenal, and stenographer; anaccumulation of very dusty impedimenta--all but the stenographer. Bythree o'clock our hotel livery-rig was speeding along the beach atFalse Cape towards the tall lighthouse looming above the dunes.
The abode of a gentleman named Slunk was my goal. I sat brooding inthe rickety carriage, still dazed by the rapidity of my flight fromNew York; the stenographer sat beside me, blue eyes bright withexcitement, fair hair blowing in the sea-wind.
Our railway companionship had been of the slightest, also absolutelyformal; for I was too absorbed in conjecturing the meaning of thisjourney to be more than absent-mindedly civil; and she, I fancy, hadhad time for repentance and perhaps for a little fright, though Icould discover traces of neither.
I remember she left the train at some city or other where we were heldfor an hour; and out of the car-window I saw her returning with abrand-new grip sack.
She must have bought clothes, for she continued to remain cool andfresh in her summer shirt-waists and short outing skirt; and shelooked immaculate now, sitting there beside me, the trace of a smilecurving her red mouth.
"I'm looking for a personage named Slunk," I observed.
After a moment's silent consideration of the Atlantic Ocean she said,"When do my duties begin, Mr. Gilland?"
"The Lord alone knows," I replied, grimly. "Are you repenting of yourbargain?"
"I am quite happy," she said, serenely.
Remorse smote me that I had consented to engage this frail,pink-and-ivory biped for an enterprise which lay outside the suburbsof Manhattan. I glanced guiltily at my victim; she sat there, theincarnation of New York piquancy--a translated denizen of themetropolis--a slender spirit of the back offices of sky-scrapers. Whyhad I lured her hither?--here where the heavy, lavender-tintedbreakers thundered on a lost coast; here where above the dune-junglesvultures soared, and snowy-headed eagles, hulking along the sands,tore dead fish and yelped at us as we passed.
Strange waters, strange skies--a strange, lost land aquiver under anexotic sun; and there she sat with her wise eyes of a child,unconcerned, watching the world in perfect confidence.
"May I pay a little compliment to your pluck?" I asked, amused.
"Certainly," she said, smiling as the maid of Manhattan alone knowshow to smile--shyly, inquiringly--with a lingering hint of laughter inthe curled lips' corners. Then her sensitive features fell a trifle."Not pluck," she said, "but necessity; I had no chance to choose, notime to wait. My last dollar, Mr. Gilland, is in my purse!"
With a gay little gesture she drew it from her shirt-front, then,smiling, sat turning it over and over in her lap.
The sun fell on her hands, gilding the smooth skin with the first tintof sunburn. Under the corners of her eyes above the rounded cheeks apink stain lay like the first ripening flush on a wild strawberry.That, too, was the mark left by the caress of wind and sun. I had hadno idea she was so pretty.
"I think we'll enjoy this adventure," I said; "don't you?"
"I try to make the best of things," she said, gazing off into thehorizon haze. "Look," she added; "is that a man?"
A spot far away on the beach caught my eye. At first I thought it wasa pelican--and small wonder, too, for the dumpy, waddling,goose-necked individual who loomed up resembled a heavy bottomed birdmore than a human being.
"Do you suppose that could be Mr. Slunk?" asked the stenographer, asour vehicle drew nearer.
He looked as though his name ought to be Slunk; he was digging coquinaclams, and he dug with a pecking motion like a water-turkey masteringa mullet too big for it.
His name was Slunk; he admitted it when I accused him. Our negrodriver drew rein, and I descended to the sand and gazed on Mr. Slunk.
He was, as I have said, not impressive, even with the tremendousbackground of sky and ocean.
"I've come something over a thousand miles to see you," I said,reluctant to admit that I had come as far to see such a specimen ofhuman architecture.
A weather-beaten grin stretched the skin that covered his face, and heshoved a hairy paw into the pockets of his overalls, digging deeplyinto profound depths. First he brought to light a twist of SouthCarolina tobacco, which he leisurely inserted in his mouth--not,apparently, for pleasure, but merely to get rid of it.
The second object excavated from the overalls was a small packetaddressed to me. This he handed to me; I gravely handed him a silverdollar; he went back to his clam-digging, and I entered the carriageand drove on. All had been carried out according to the letter of myinstructions so far, and my spirits brightened.
"If you don't mind I'll read my instructions," I said, in highgood-humor.
"Pray do not hesitate," she said, smiling in sympathy.
So I opened the little packet and read:
"Drive to Cape Canaveral along the beach. You will find a gang of men at work on a government breakwater. The superintendent is Mr. Rowan. Show him this letter.
"FARRAGO."
Rather disappointed--for I had been expecting to find in the packetsome key to the interesting mystery which had sent Professor Farragointo the Everglades--I thrust the missive into my pocket and resumed astudy of the immediate landscape. It had not changed as we progressed:ocean, sand, low dunes crowned with impenetrable tangles of wild bay,sparkleberry, and live-oak, with here and there a weather-twistedpalmetto sprawling, and here and there the battered blades of cactusand Spanish-bayonet thrust menacingly forward; and over all thevultures, sailing, sailing--some mere circling motes lost in the blueabove, some sheering the earth so close that their swiftly sweepingshadows slanted continually across our road.
"I detest a buzzard," I said, aloud.
"I thought they were crows," she confessed.
"Carrion-crows--yes.
"'The carrion-crows Sing, Caw! caw!'
--only they don't," I added, my song putting me in good-humor oncemore. And I glanced askance at the pretty stenographer.
"It is a pleasure to be employed by agreeable people," she said,innocently.
"Oh, I can be much more agreeable than that," I said.
"Is Professor Farrago--amusing?" she asked.
"Well--oh, certainly--but not in--in the way I am."
Suddenly it flashed upon me that my superior was a confirmed hater ofunmarried women. I had clean forgotten it; and now the full import ofwhat I had done scared me silent.
"Is anything the matter?" asked Miss Barrison.
"No--not yet," I said, ominously.
How on earth could I have overlooked that well-known fact. The hurryand anxiety, the stress of instant preparation and departure, hadclean driven it from my absent-minded head.
Jogging on over the sand, I sat silent, cudgelling my brains for asolution of the disastrous predicament I had gotten into. I picturedthe astonished rage of my superior--my probable dismissal fromemployment--perhaps the general overturning and smash-up of the entireexpedition.
A distant, dark object on the beach concentrated my distractedthoughts; it must be the breakwater at Cape Canaveral. And it was thebreakwater, swarming with negro workmen, who were swinging greatblocks of coquina into cemented beds, singing and whistling at theirlabor.
I forgot my predicament when I saw a thin white man in sun-helmet andkhaki directing the work from the beach; and as our horses plodded up,I stepped out and hailed him by name.
"Yes, my name is Rowan," he said, instantly, turning to meet me. Hissharp, clear eyes included the vehicle and the stenographer, and helifted his helmet, then looked squarely at me.
"My name is Gilland," I said, dropping my voice and stepping nearer."I have just come from Bronx Park, New York."
He bowed, waiting for something more from me; so I presented mycredentials.
His formal manner changed at once. "Come over here and let us talk abit," he said, cordially--then hesitated, glancing at MissBar
rison--"if your wife would excuse us--"
The pretty stenographer colored, and I dryly set Mr. Rowanright--which appeared to disturb him more than his mistake.
"Pardon me, Mr. Gilland, but you do not propose to take this younggirl into the Everglades, do you?"
"That's what I had proposed to do," I said, brusquely.
Perfectly aware that I resented his inquiry, he cast a perplexed andtroubled glance at her, then slowly led the way to a great block ofsun-warmed coquina, where he sat down, motioning me to do the same.
"I see," he said, "that you don't know just where you are going orjust what you are expected to do."
"No, I don't," I said.
"Well, I'll tell you, then. You are going into the devil's own countryto look for something that I fled five hundred miles to avoid."
"Is that so?" I said, uneasily.
"That is so, Mr. Gilland."
"Oh! And what is this object that I am to look for and from which youfled five hundred miles?"
"I don't know."
"You don't know what you ran away from?"
"No, sir. Perhaps if I had known I should have run a thousand miles."
We eyed one another.
"You think, then, that I'd better send Miss Barrison back to NewYork?" I asked.
"I certainly do. It may be murder to take her."
"Then I'll do it!" I said, nervously. "Back she goes from the firstrailroad station."
In a flash the thought came to me that here was a way to avoid thewrath of Professor Farrago--and a good excuse, too. He might forgivemy not bringing a man as stenographer in view of my limited time; henever would forgive my presenting him with a woman.
"She must go back," I repeated; and it rather surprised me to findmyself already anticipating loneliness--something that never in all mytravels had I experienced before.
"By the first train," I added, firmly, disliking Mr. Rowan without anyreason except that he had suddenly deprived me of my stenographer.
"What I have to tell you," he began, lighting a cigarette, the mate towhich I declined, "is this: Three years ago, before I entered thiscontracting business, I was in the government employ as officer in theCoast Survey. Our duties took us into Florida waters; we were monthsat a time working on shore."
He pulled thoughtfully at his cigarette and blew a light cloud intothe air.
"I had leave for a month once; and like an ass I prepared to spend itin a hunting-trip among the Everglades."
He crossed his lean legs and gazed meditatively at his cigarette.
"I believe," he went on, "that we penetrated the Everglades fartherthan any white man who ever lived to return. There's nothing verydismal about the Everglades--the greater part, I mean. You get highand low hummock, marshes, creeks, lakes, and all that. If you getlost, you're a goner. If you acquire fever, you're as well off as theseraphim--and not a whit better. There are the usual animalsthere--bears (little black fellows) lynxes, deer, panthers,alligators, and a few stray crocodiles. As for snakes, of coursethey're there, moccasins a-plenty, some rattlers, but, after all, notas many snakes as one finds in Alabama, or even northern Florida andGeorgia.
"The Seminoles won't help you--won't even talk to you. They're asullen pack--but not murderous, as far as I know. Beyond their innerlimits lie the unknown regions."
He bit the wet end from his cigarette.
"I went there," he said; "I came out as soon as I could."
"Why?"
"Well--for one thing, my companion died of fright."
"Fright? What at?"
"Well, there's something in there."
"What?"
He fixed a penetrating gaze on me. "I don't know, Mr. Gilland."
"Did you see anything to frighten you?" I insisted.
"No, but I felt something." He dropped his cigarette and ground itinto the sand viciously. "To cut it short," he said, "I am mostunwillingly led to believe that there are--creatures--of some sort inthe Everglades--living creatures quite as large as you or I--and thatthey are perfectly transparent--as transparent as a colorlessjellyfish."
Instantly the veiled import of Professor Farrago's letter was madeclear to me. He, too, believed that.
"It embarrasses me like the devil to say such a thing," continuedRowan, digging in the sand with his spurred heels. "It seems so--solike a whopping lie--it seems so childish and ridiculous--so cursedcheap! But I fled; and there you are. I might add," he said,indifferently, "that I have the ordinary portion of courage allottedto normal men."
"But what do you believe these--these animals to be?" I asked,fascinated.
"I don't know." An obstinate look came into his eyes. "I don't know,and I absolutely refuse to speculate for the benefit of anybody. Iwouldn't do it for my friend Professor Farrago; and I'm not going todo it for you," he ended, laughing a rather grim laugh that somehowjarred me into realizing the amazing import of his story. For I didnot doubt it, strange as it was--fantastic, incredible though itsounded in the ears of a scientist.
What it was that carried conviction I do not know--perhaps the factthat my superior credited it; perhaps the manner of narration. Told inquiet, commonplace phrases, by an exceedingly practical andunimaginative young man who was plainly embarrassed in the telling,the story rang out like a shout in a canon, startling because of theabsolute lack of emphasis employed in the telling.
"Professor Farrago asked me to speak of this to no one except the manwho should come to his assistance. He desired the first chance ofclearing this--this rather perplexing matter. No doubt he didn't wantexploring parties prowling about him," added Rowan, smiling. "Butthere's no fear of that, I fancy. I never expect to tell that storyagain to anybody; I shouldn't have told him, only somehow it's worriedme for three years, and though I was deadly afraid of ridicule, Ifinally made up my mind that science ought to have a hack at it.
"When I was in New York last winter I summoned up courage and wroteProfessor Farrago. He came to see me at the Holland House that sameevening; I told him as much as I ever shall tell anybody. That is all,Mr. Gilland."
For a long time I sat silent, musing over the strange words. After awhile I asked him whether Professor Farrago was supplied withprovisions; and he said he was; that a great store of staples and tinsof concentrated rations had been carried in as far as Little SpriteLake; that Professor Farrago was now there alone, having insisted upondismissing all those he had employed.
"There was no practical use for a guide," added Rowan, "because nocracker, no Indian, and no guide knows the region beyond the Seminolecountry."
I rose, thanking him and offering my hand. He took it and shook it inmanly fashion, saying: "I consider Professor Farrago a very brave man;I may say the same of any man who volunteers to accompany him.Good-bye, Mr. Gilland; I most earnestly wish for your success.Professor Farrago left this letter for you."
And that was all. I climbed back into the rickety carriage, carryingmy unopened letter; the negro driver cracked his whip and whistled,and the horses trotted inland over a fine shell road which was to leadus across Verbena Junction to Citron City. Half an hour later wecrossed the tracks at Verbena and turned into a broad marl road. Thisaroused me from my deep and speculative reverie, and after a fewmoments I asked Miss Barrison's indulgence and read the letter fromProfessor Farrago which Mr. Rowan had given me:
"DEAR MR. GILLAND,--You now know all I dared not write, fearing to bring a swarm of explorers about my ears in case the letter was lost, and found by unscrupulous meddlers. If you still are willing to volunteer, knowing all that I know, join me as soon as possible. If family considerations deter you from taking what perhaps is an insane risk, I shall not expect you to join me. In that event, return to New York immediately and send Kingsley.
"Yours, F."
"What the deuce is the matter with him!" I exclaimed, irritably. "I'lltake any chances Kingsley does!"
Miss Barrison looked up in surprise.
"Miss Barrison," I said, plungin
g into the subject headfirst, "I'mextremely sorry, but I have news that forces me to believe the journeytoo dangerous for you to attempt, so I think that it would be muchbetter--" The consternation in her pretty face checked me.
"I'm awfully sorry," I muttered, appalled by her silence.
"But--but you engaged me!"
"I know it--I should not have done it. I only--"
"But you did engage me, didn't you?"
"I believe that I did--er--oh, of course--"
"But a verbal contract is binding between honorable people, isn't it,Mr. Gilland?"
"Yes, but--"
"And ours was a verbal contract; and in consideration you paid me myfirst week's salary, and I bought shirt-waists and a short skirt andthree changes of--and tooth-brushes and--"
"I know, I know," I groaned. "But I'll fix all that."
"You can't if you break your contract."
"Why not?"
"Because," she said, flushing up, "I should not accept."
"You don't understand--"
"Really I do. You are going into a dangerous country and you're afraidI'll be frightened."
"It's something like that."
"Tell me what are the dangers?"
"Alligators, big, bitey snakes--"
"Oh, you've said all that before!"
"Seminoles--"
"And that too. What else is there? Did the young man in the sun-helmettell you of something worse?"
"Yes--much worse! Something so dreadfully horrible that--"
"What?"
"I am not at liberty to tell you, Miss Barrison," I said, striving toappear shocked.
"It would not make any difference anyway," she observed, calmly. "I'mnot afraid of anything in the world."
"Yes, you are!" I said. "Listen to me; I'd be awfully glad to have yougo--I--I really had no idea how I'd miss you--miss such pleasantcompanionship. But it is not possible--" The recollection of ProfessorFarrago's aversion suddenly returned. "No, no," I said, "it can't bedone. I'm most unhappy over this mistake of mine; please don't look asthough you were ready to cry!"
"Don't discharge me, Mr. Gilland," she said.
"I'm a brute to do it, but I must; I was a bigger brute to engage you,but I did. Don't--please don't look at me that way, Miss Barrison! Asa matter of fact, I'm tender-hearted and I can't endure it."
"If you only knew what I had been through you wouldn't send me away,"she said, in a low voice. "It took my last penny to clothe myself andpay for the last lesson at the college of stenography. I--I lived onalmost nothing for weeks; every respectable place was filled; I walkedand walked and walked, and nobody wanted me--they all required peoplewith experience--and how can I have experience until I begin, Mr.Gilland? I was perfectly desperate when I went to see you, knowingthat you had advertised for a man--" The slightest break in her clearvoice scared me.
"I'm not going to cry," she said, striving to smile. "If I must go, Iwill go. I--I didn't mean to say all this--but--but I've been so--sodiscouraged;--and you were not very cross with me--"
Smitten with remorse, I picked up her hand and fell to patting itviolently, trying to think of something to say. The exercise did notappear to stimulate my wits.
"Then--then I'm to go with you?" she asked.
"I will see," I said, weakly, "but I fear there's trouble ahead forthis expedition."
"I fear there is," she agreed, in a cheerful voice. "You have a rifleand a cage in your luggage. Are you going to trap Indians and have mereport their language?"
"No, I'm not going to trap Indians," I said, sharply. "They may trapus--but that's a detail. What I want to say to you is this: ProfessorFarrago detests unmarried women, and I forgot it when I engaged you."
"Oh, is that all?" she asked, laughing.
"Not all, but enough to cost me my position."
"How absurd! Why, there are millions of things we mightdo!--millions!"
"What's one of them?" I inquired.
"Why, we might pretend to be married!" Her frank and absolutelyinnocent delight in this suggestion was refreshing, but troubling.
"We would have to be demonstrative to make that story go," I said.
"Why? Well-bred people are not demonstrative in public," she retorted,turning a trifle pink.
"No, but in private--"
"I think there is no necessity for carrying a pleasantry into ourprivate life," she said, in a perfectly amiable voice. "Anyway, ifProfessor Farrago's feelings are to be spared, no sacrifice on thepart of a mere girl could be too great," she added, gayly; "I willwear men's clothes if you wish."
"You may have to anyhow in the jungle," I said; "and as it's not anuncommon thing these days, nobody would ever take you for anythingexcept what you are--a very wilful and plucky and persistent and--"
"And what, Mr. Gilland?"
"And attractive," I muttered.
"Thank you, Mr. Gilland."
"You're welcome," I snapped. The near whistle of a locomotive warnedus, and I rose in the carriage, looking out across the sand-hills.
"That is probably our train," observed the pretty stenographer.
"_Our_ train!"
"Yes; isn't it?"
"Then you insist--"
"Ah, no, Mr. Gilland; I only trust implicitly in my employer."
"We'll wait till we get to Citron City," I said, weakly; "then it willbe time enough to discuss the situation, won't it?"
"Yes, indeed," she said, smiling; but she knew, and I already feared,that the situation no longer admitted of discussion. In a few momentsmore we emerged, without warning, from the scrub-crested sand-hillsinto the single white street of Citron City, where China-trees hungheavy with bloom, and magnolias, already set with perfumed candelabra,spread soft, checkered shadows over the marl.
The train lay at the station, oceans of heavy, black smoke lazilyflowing from the locomotive; negroes were hoisting empty fruit-cratesaboard the baggage-car, through the door of which I caught a glimpseof my steel cage and remaining paraphernalia, all securely crated.
"Telegram hyah foh Mistuh Gilland," remarked the operator, lounging athis window as we descended from our dusty vehicle. He had notaddressed himself to anybody in particular, but I said that I was Mr.Gilland, and he produced the envelope. "Toted in from Okeechobee?" heinquired, listlessly.
"Probably; it's signed 'Farrago,' isn't it?"
"It's foh yoh, suh, I reckon," said the operator, handing it out witha yawn. Then he removed his hat and fanned his head, which wasperfectly bald.
I opened the yellow envelope. "Get me a good dog with points," was thelaconic message; and it irritated me to receive such idioticinstructions at such a time and in such a place. A good dog? Where themischief could I find a dog in a town consisting of ten houses and awater-tank? I said as much to the bald-headed operator, who smiledwearily and replaced his hat: "Dawg? They's moh houn'-dawgs in CitronCity than they's wood-ticks to keep them busy. I reckon a dollah 'lldo a heap foh you, suh."
"Could you get me a dog for a dollar?" I asked;--"one with points?"
"Points? I sholy can, suh;--plenty of points. What kind of dawg do yohrequiah, suh?--live dawg? daid dawg? houn'-dawg? raid-dawg? hawg-dawg?coon-dawg?--"
The locomotive emitted a long, lazy, softly modulated and thoroughlySouthern toot. I handed the operator a silver dollar, and he presentlyemerged from his office and slouched off up the street, while I walkedwith Miss Barrison to the station platform, where I resumed thediscussion of her future movements.
"You are very young to take such a risk," I said, gravely. "Had I notbetter buy your ticket back to New York? The north-bound train meetsthis one. I suppose we are waiting for it now--" I stopped, consciousof her impatience.
Her face flushed brightly: "Yes; I think it best. I have embarrassedyou too long already--"
"Don't say that!" I muttered. "I--I--shall be deadly bored withoutyou."
"I am not an entertainer, only a stenographer," she said, curtly."Please get me my ticket, Mr. Gilland."
Sh
e gazed at me from the car-platform; the locomotive tooted twodrawling toots.
"It is for your sake," I said, avoiding her gaze as the far-offwhistle of the north-bound express came floating out of the bluedistance.
She did not answer; I fished out my watch, regarding it in silence,listening to the hum of the approaching train, which ought presentlyto bear her away into the North, where nothing could menace her exceptthe brilliant pitfalls of a Christian civilization. But I stoodthere, temporizing, unable to utter a word as her train shot by uswith a rush, slower, slower, and finally stopped, with a long-drawnsigh from the air-brakes.
At that instant the telegraph-operator appeared, carrying a dog by thescruff of the neck--a sad-eyed, ewe-necked dog, from the four cornersof which dangled enormous, cushion-like paws. He yelped when he beheldme. Miss Barrison leaned down from the car-platform and took theanimal into her arms, uttering a suppressed exclamation of pity as shelifted him.
"You have your hands full," she said to me; "I'll take him into thecar for you."
She mounted the steps; I followed with the valises, striving to get agood view of my acquisition over her shoulder.
"That isn't the kind of dog I wanted!" I repeated again and again,inspecting the animal as it sprawled on the floor of the car at theedge of Miss Barrison's skirt. "That dog is all voice and feet andemotion! What makes it stick up its paws like that? I don't want thatdog and I'm not going to identify myself with it! Where's theoperator--"
I turned towards the car-window; the operator's bald head was visibleon a line with the sill, and I made motions at him. He bowed withcourtly grace, as though I were thanking him.
"I'm not!" I cried, shaking my head. "I wanted a dog with points--notthe kind of points that stick up all over this dog. Take him away!"
The operator's head appeared to be gliding out of my range of vision;then the windows of the north-bound train slid past, faster andfaster. A melancholy grace-note from the dog, a jolt, and I turnedaround, appalled.
"This train is going," I stammered, "and you are on it!"
Miss Barrison sprang up and started towards the door, and I sped afterher.
"I can jump," she said, breathlessly, edging out to the platform;"please let me! There is time yet--if you only wouldn't hold me--sotight--"
A few moments later we walked slowly back together through the car andtook seats facing one another.
Between us sat the hound-dog, a prey to melancholy unutterable.