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LIKE LIGHTNING THE HUGE BOOM SWUNG AROUND, AND THEAVALANCHE OF MUD DESCENDED AT THE PONY'S FEET. _Page 128._
_The Boy Chums in the Florida Jungle._]
The Boy Chums In The Florida Jungle
OR
Charlie West and Walter Hazard With the Seminole Indians
By WILMER M. ELY
AUTHOR OF
"The Boy Chums Cruising In Florida Waters" "The Boy Chums In The Gulf Of Mexico" "The Boy Chums On Haunted Island" "The Boy Chums On Indian River" "The Boy Chums' Perilous Cruise" "The Boy Chums In The Forest"
A. L. BURT COMPANY NEW YORK
Copyright, 1915 BY A. L. BURT COMPANY
THE BOY CHUMS IN THE FLORIDA JUNGLE
Contents
CHAPTER PAGE I. THE BOY CHUMS 3 II. THE NEW VENTURE 11 III. INVESTIGATING 20 IV. BUNCOED 28 V. THE STRIKE 37 VI. LOYALTY 45 VII. CHARLEY HAS A NARROW ESCAPE 53 VIII. WALTER TAKES HIS FIRST LESSON IN RUNNING AN ENGINE 61 IX. BOB IS SENT HOME 69 X. WALTER AND THE ENGINEER GO A-HUNTING 76 XI. THE CONVICTS' CAMP 83 XII. CHARLEY GETS A NEW CREW 91 XIII. LOOKING AHEAD 98 XIV. SCOUTING 105 XV. THE FIRST BLOW 112 XVI. FIGHTING THE FIRE 120 XVII. THE CONVICTS 128 XVIII. THE MEDICINE MAN 136 XIX. THE OLD FORT 144 XX. THE HIDDEN VOICE 152 XXI. CHARLEY GETS A TELEGRAM 160 XXII. MOVING THE CAMP 168 XXIII. EXCITING EVENTS 176 XXIV. A CLEW 184 XXV. SICKNESS IN THE CAMP 192 XXVI. A MIDNIGHT RAID 200 XXVII. BURNING OUT THE JUNGLE 208 XXVIII. SHOOTING TO KILL 216 XXIX. THE SEMINOLE LAD 224 XXX. VISITORS 232 XXXI. MR. JONES BUYS THE OUTFIT 240 XXXII. THE MYSTERY SOLVED 248
THE BOY CHUMS IN THE FLORIDA JUNGLE
CHAPTER I.
THE BOY CHUMS.
"GOLLY! I'm getting powerful tired ob dis. Fish what just clusterers'round youah bait an' won't bite at hit noways is jest trifling andnoaccount. I reckon dey's too ornery an' too finiky anyway to be fit toeat. Well, here goes again, though hit ain't no use. I'se dun spit onmah bait fifty times, an' rubbed hit twice with my rabbit's foot, buthit doan' do a bit of good. Dey jes' look at hit an' grin like whitefolks at a nigger's wedding." The little ebony negro who had spoken letdrop his daintily baited hook into the water again with a gesture ofdisgust.
"Let me have a look at them, Chris," said another voice, and a whiteface joined the black, as the two peered over the edge of the bridgedown into the crystal-clear depths of the water below.
The white boy straightened up after a brief glance into the azurewaters. He was tall and sturdily built, with lines of self-relianceand determination upon his youthful face. His mouth widened into a grinof amusement, as he watched the little negro peering anxiously down atthe circle of black-circle-eyed fish that crowded eagerly but warilyaround the baited hook.
"You're fooling away your time, Chris," said the white lad. "Lookhere." He chopped up a few pieces of bait and flung them over besidethe other's line. As they slowly sank there was turmoil and confusionamongst the finny observers below. With swirl and splash they darted upand seized upon the tiny fragments.
Chris wound up his line with a snort of disgust. "Dey are conjured,clean conjured," he declared; "going clean out ob their way to get baitwhen dar was plenty right afore 'em. Them's sure some fool fishes,Massa Charles."
"You're wrong," said the other boy lightly. "They are mangrovesnappers, the foxiest fish that swims. Some one of them got hurt on ahook some time, and his misfortune has become history among the tribe.I guess that's what makes the black circles around their eyes. Theyjust keep worrying so about getting hold of another tempting morselwith a hook attached that they don't eat half enough, and are fastworrying themselves into nervous prostration."
The little negro snorted, and continued to wind up his line, while hiswhite companion paused to gaze with appreciation at the beautiful scenespread out to his view. At the shore end of the high railroad bridgeupon which they stood was Jupiter, a tiny nest of white houses, almostlost among the glossy green palms and vivid blazing tropical flowers.Below them flowed the blue waters of the Laxahatchu River. To the west,the river broke into a dozen parts, each flowing swiftly between asmany shoals and islands, and finally losing itself in the distance.To the east, it joined the sea, scarce a mile distant, the breakersmeeting the river's waters in a tumbling mass of foam. A little belowthe bridge, on the opposite side of the river from Jupiter, threegovernment buildings rose up from a high bluff--a wireless station,a weather bureau office, and a towering lighthouse, built long, longbefore the civil war. Beyond these, down close to the inlet, the lad'seyes focused upon a long point, jutting out into the river, upon whichstood two small tents. From the inlet a rowboat, with two occupants,was approaching the point with the long easy strokes characteristic ofexperienced boatmen.
The lad turned to his black companion. "Come on, let's go back to camp,Chris," he said. "The Captain and Walter are nearly there now."
"Better look to youah line. De slack's running out like mad, MassaCharles," chided the little darkey. "Golly! I don't know what youwhite chillens would do widout dis nigger. 'Pears like you whitechillens can't even fish widout Chris along to tell you-alls when yougot a bite."
But Charley had already sprung for the coiled-up line, which waswhizzing out at a rapid rate. Taking a turn around a post, heendeavored to stop the hook's victim in its mad career, but, as thelong, heavy line tauted like a bar of iron, he realized that he stood achance of losing both line and fish, and he paid out the balance of theline very slowly. It was not until the very end of the line was reachedthat the fish suddenly changed its tactics and, turning short, rushedfor the bridge.
Charley yanked in the slack line swiftly and called to Chris to cometo his assistance. Near the bridge the fish turned again and sped forthe far-off inlet, both boys clinging to the line in a vain attempt tocheck the outward rush.
"Golly!" panted Chris, as the line dragged slowly and burningly throughhis grip. "Hit's lucky we ain't got this line tied to no post. Dat fishwould sure pull de whole bridge ober."
"Rats!" laughed Charley, as he grabbed out his pocket handkerchief andhastily wrapped it around one hand to protect it from the burning line,"isn't the bridge bearing the whole strain as long as we are standingon it?"
"Course it ain't," maintained the little negro pantingly, "ain't myback beginning to ache, an' my arms get lame, an' mah hands burn likefire? Golly! You white chillens sho' don't use no logic or reason.Maybe you ain't holdin' back hard enough to feel hit, but I'se sho'getting de strain, not dis pesky ole bridge."
"Well, you will not have to bea
r it much longer," Charley grinned."Don't you notice that the strain is getting weaker all the time?He's a monster, but he's evidently swallowed the hook clean down, andthat's why he is giving up so fast. We'll have the best of him in a fewminutes."
The lad's prophecy proved true, for, long before the end of the linewas reached, the fish began circling in ever-narrowing circles until,at last, the two boys were able to tow it up slowly to the shore.
"Golly!" exclaimed Chris, as the fish's huge bulk came into view."Dat's de biggest an' ugliest fish I ever catched. What is hit, anyway?"
Charley glanced down at the short, thick, black body and the huge,gasping, red mouth. "It's a Jew fish," he announced. "I guess it weighsabout 800 pounds, but that's not so very much, when you consider thatthey sometimes grow to weigh over 1,800. Unlike most big fish, however,they are very good eating. Wind up the fish line, and then cut out somegood big steaks. They will make dandy fish balls and chowder. Whileyou're doing that, I'll run up to the village and tell everyone tocome down and help themselves, then I'll bring the launch around fromthe dock and pick you up."
Soon after his departure the villagers began to arrive in twos andthrees, but not before Chris had cut out several fine steaks fromthe huge fish. By the time he wound up his line, washed the steakscarefully and strung them upon a piece of cocoanut fiber, Charley hovein sight in a little motor boat. He ran up as close as he dared to theshore and stopped his engine. "Hurry up and climb aboard," he called,"we want to get back to camp before dark."
Chris waded out, treading gingerly with bare feet over the oystershells that strewed the bottom.
"Hurry up," laughed Charley, "your feet are too tough to be hurt byoyster shells."
The little darkey grinned as he clambered aboard. "Dat ain't de point,"he protested. "I was reckoning dat some ob dem oysters might be alive,an' I sho' would have hated to crush de life out ob dem."
Charley threw over the wheel and started up the motor, and the littleboat, whirling around, darted away for the distant point with its twosnow-white tents. A few minutes' run brought them close to it, andCharley steered round into a cove, to avoid the tide wash, and ran theboat up on the shore. The anchor was taken out and imbedded in thesand. The motor was covered and everything made snug for the night.Then the two boys strolled forward with their burdens for the tents.
Although it was not yet dark, a big fire of fragrant, spicy, mangrovewood blazed before the tent. A little ways from it on blocks ofdriftwood sat a boy of about Charley's own age, while close beside himsat an elderly man with a heavy beard. The boy was opening oysters,while the man was carefully breaking turtle eggs into a big pan besidehim, taking care to let only the yolks fall into the pan and throwingaway the uncookable whites.
"Hallo!" greeted Charley cheerfully. "What luck, Walt?"
"Too good," said the boy on the block listlessly. "Every turtle inthe Atlantic must have tried to lay on the beach along here. Didn'teven have the fun of looking for a nest. They were scattered aroundeverywhere."
"And you, Captain?" asked Charley, with a grin at his chum's reply.
"Ran the skiff right up on a bed of oysters," the old sailor saidbriefly. "All I had to do was lean over the side and pick 'em up withmy hand--big, nice, fat oysters, too."
Charley took a seat on a piece of driftwood, and silence fell upon thethree. Only Chris, with the high spirits of his race, stamped down thefire into a bed of glowing coals, and prepared to make an omeletteof the turtle eggs, a stew from the oysters, and a big pot of coffee,singing as he worked,
"Ham meat hit am good to eat, Bacon's berry fine, But gib, oh, gib me what I long for, Dat watermilen asmiling on de vine."
Charley broke the long silence that had fallen on the three. "We aregetting to be three old grouches," he said calmly. "We have got thebest of health. We have got $5,000 cash in the bank. We have beentruckers, wreckers, pearl hunters, plume hunters, spongers, and,lastly, net fishermen, and have gone through all kinds of hardshipsand perils, and yet, after we agreed to take a long vacation trip andrest up, here after only two weeks of it we are getting restless anddissatisfied. Am I right?"
"You are," declared Walter Hazard heartily. "I admit it. I'm sick ofloafing. I want to get back to real work again."
"It's all right for a while, this lounging about from place to place,but I reckon I've about got my fill of it," Captain Westfield admitted."I had a heap sight rather be working at something."
"I feel the same way," Charley agreed, "and I believe I've found thevery thing for us, but it's big--the biggest thing the Boy Chums evertackled. Come on. Chris has got supper ready. We will talk it overwhile we eat."