The Boy Chums in the Florida Jungle
Page 2
CHAPTER II.
THE NEW VENTURE.
FOR a few minutes there was entire silence while the four devoted theirwhole attention to the delicious meal Chris had prepared, and, duringthis lull, the reader has time to observe and note more carefullythis little band of old friends, whom he has doubtless met amid manyadventures in the Boy Chum Series. They have changed but little sincehe met them last in "The Young Net Fishermen." Charley West, thestrapping young fellow, who now sits on one side of the fire eagerlydevouring piping hot omelette and rich oyster stew, is the same oldCharley of yore, his face a trifle older and more alert, perhaps,from the dangers and hardships through which he has passed, but withthe same old merry twinkle in his eyes. Walter Hazard, now grownalmost as husky as his chum, sits next to him, and close beside Waltis gray-haired Captain Westfield, a sort of guardian father to themboth, a master of the sea, but rather helpless on land. He, too, islittle changed, while Chris, the little ebony darkey, wears the samebroad, good-natured smile as ever. But we must stop and listen to theconversation now starting up, for upon it depends the future of ourfour friends.
"Tell us what our next move is to be," Walter demanded.
"It rests with the rest of you as much as with me," Charley smiled."All I am going to do is to make the suggestion."
"Go ahead," said the captain impatiently, "we're waiting to hear it."
"Well," said Charley, "West of Jupiter about forty miles lays the greatlake Okeechobee. It's reported by explorers that there's a ten-milebelt clear around the lake of the richest land in the world. Betweenthe lake and Jupiter there is only one little trading-post, calledIndiantown. All the way leads through swamps, prairies, and pinebarrens. There is a sort of road, but it is under water for about sixmonths in the year."
"All that's interesting, but what has it got to do with us?" saidWaiter impatiently.
"I'm coming to that in a minute," said Charley placidly. "Last year thecounty commissioners passed a law for the building of a dirt road fromJupiter to the lake, and a man named Murphy made a bid of 17-1/2 cents ayard for the dirt handled and he got the contract. He bought a steamshovel with a 1-1/2-yard bucket. He went to work and has got about tenmiles of the road completed. Now he wants to sell out his machine andcontract. Says his wife in Connecticut is sick, and he's got to go backand stay with her. I saw him in Jupiter to-day, and he told me he wouldsell machine, tents, a team of mules, and the contract for one-third ofwhat the machine alone cost him, $3,000. I didn't promise him anything,but said we would ride out and look at it in the morning. It looks tome like a good chance to establish ourselves in a good steady business.There's about thirty miles of the road yet to build. And he says thereare plenty more contracts to be had for the asking. The machine can digone and one-half cubic yards of earth per minute, and, at 17-1/2 cents peryard, that's some money, I'm thinking. Besides it works nights as wellas days. Well, what do you think about it?"
Walter looked rather disappointed. "That sounds all right," headmitted, "but there doesn't seem much chance of having any fun,adventure or excitement out of such a job."
"Adventure, excitement!" echoed Charley. "Why, I don't know whereyou'd be more likely to find both. Remember, we are going through analmost unknown country. Right through the Indians' hunting grounds, andthrough a country alive with snakes and game."
"Good," exclaimed Walter, with eyes shining. "I vote yes for the steamshovel."
"I don't know about it," said the Captain doubtfully. "It ain't a goodplan generally to go into a business that you don't know anythingabout."
"But we will soon learn," protested Charley vigorously. "If we buy,Murphy has agreed to stay on for a couple of weeks until we get on tothe run of things."
"Well," consented the old sailor reluctantly. "It won't do any harm tolook at the critter, though I guess I won't be able to tell as muchabout her as I would about a sea-going craft."
"Well, how about you, Chris?" Charley inquired.
The little negro grinned. "Golly, Massa Charley, I reckon I'm prettywell satisfied as I is. Don't reckon you-alls ebber seed a nigger butwas willing to lay around in de sun all day an' do nothin' but eat an'fish, but if you-alls are goin' into any foolish projectin's, I reckondis nigger will hab to go along to keep you outer trouble."
"Then it's settled," Charley declared with satisfaction. "We will getan early start in the morning and drive out and see just how things aregoing."
Thus settled, an early hour next morning found them on the way, drawnin a rickety wagon behind a lean mule with a wicked-looking eye. Therewas no danger of their losing their way for the machine-made roadstretched out before them a smoothed mound of earth flanked on eachside by deep ditches made by the removed dirt. At places the road wasraised a full four feet above the surrounding land, while at otherplaces it descended gradually to a mere two feet.
Charley viewed it with satisfaction. "That's the kind of work I wantto do," he said. "The kind of work that creates something, that helpspeople, gives them employment, and makes them happy. Take that road,for instance," he continued dreamily, "of course it is only a road, butit will open up the way to thousands of acres of rich land, and givethousands of people a chance to own a home and farm."
"Yes," agreed the Captain testily, who was hot and sweating underthe blazing sun, "and it will drive away the Indians from their lasthunting ground, and the people who will flock in will be Huns, Polacksand Japs, and most of them will die off with the malaria, and the rest,after they have raised their crops, will find it costs them more to getthem to market than they are worth. Say, Chris, can't you spread moresail on that craft of yours? I allow that there ain't much breeze, butsurely it can do more than a mile an hour."
Chris, who was driving the melancholy beast, obediently leaned forwardand brought his tattered hat down on the mule's flank. "Get up, youClarence; wake up, you mule," he shouted--and Clarence woke up. Whathad simply been before a saddened, downcast, plodding mule, became amarvel of upstanding ears, bared teeth and flying hoofs. Charley landedwith a bump on the side of the road. Walter, close beside him, and theCaptain not far away, while Chris, disdaining solid ground, lit farover in the ditch of stagnant water and mud. The cart, a battered wreckin front, with one thill gone, still remained, while Clarence, stillenveloped in his harness and dragging the other thill behind him, withleaping bounds was headed back for home.
Captain Westfield arose slowly and painfully, and felt gently of histrousers' seat. "I reckon Chris crowded on a wee bit too much sail," hesaid mildly.
Chris crawled out of the ditch, spitting out mud and water. "Golly,dat Clarence sho' can move some," he exclaimed admiringly, as he gazedafter the vanishing mule. "Who would hab thought dat a little slap ofthe hat could liven him up so?"
"I don't think it was that, at all," laughed Walter, as he regainedhis feet. "I believe he took offense at being called Clarence, as anyself-respecting mule would--probably his real name is Maud."
"You fellows can laugh, if you see anything funny in it," statedCharley reproachfully. "You wouldn't if you were me. You lit on thesand or water, but I landed broadside on a slab of rock. Well, there'sno use trying to catch Clarence. He's singing 'Home, Sweet Home,' withfour feet. I guess we are as near the camp as we are Jupiter, so wemight as well go ahead."
So ahead they marched, looking more like a trio of hoboes than possibleinvestors in a big enterprise. A walk of a few miles brought them insight of a cluster of white tents, and they hastened their steps,knowing that their destination was not far ahead. They paused at thefirst tent, the largest of the cluster, and evidently the eating tent,for they could see through the open flap two long tables with rudeseating benches running down the middle, and a heap of tin disheson a table in one corner. Outside a big, powerful, sweating negrowas kneading bread on a dirty-looking bench, upon which a protrudingstove-pipe from the tent was sending down fine flakes of soot.
"Mister Murphy's dun fudder up the road apiece by the machine," heinformed them in reply to their questio
ns. "Be you gentlemen going tostay for dinner?"
They told him that they were not sure as yet, and hurried up the road,eager to be away from the odors of the camp.
"Golly," exclaimed Chris, "did you-alls notice de bench dat niggerwas makin' bread on? I'll bet dar was a solid inch ob dirt on de topob hit. Dat nigger's been scaling fish, chopping up meat, and makingbread on dat same bench for de past six months widout washin' hit uponce. Huh, if I was his boss I'd give him a licking for sho'."
A few minutes' walk brought them in sight of the big steam shovel,which was doing the work of two hundred men with wheelbarrows. Itlooked simple enough, a kind of short steel car, resting upon sectionsof railroad track. Upon the car was mounted, on a kind of ratchet workof iron, a swinging steel platform, from which projected out a longtapering steel boom, at the end of which dangled from wire ropes a hugesteel bucket with wicked looking big teeth. Wire ropes an inch and ahalf thick led down the boom and wound, coil upon coil, around thebig controlling drums on the platform below. Two gigantic cog-wheelscontrolled the lowering and raising of the huge boom in front. Justback of the big revolving drums and cog-wheels a second little platformarose from the first. It was iron-hooded overhead, but in front it wasopen, and behind the opening, with before him six huge brass levers,stood a man controlling the movements of this mighty worker. Even asthe little party watched, the great shovel plunged down, straight down,burying its great teeth in the rooty ground. The drag rope pulled itin until it had gathered up a full load of earth. The boom liftedslightly, the platform swung around, and the bucket dropped its load.For five minutes Charley watched the operation repeated, with hiswatch in his hand. "Murphy hasn't lied about that," he said. "They aredigging a bucket a minute, all right. Let's figure it out: One andone-half yards a minute, that's 26 cents a minute; multiplying that by60 minutes in the hour, makes $15.60 per hour, and 24 hours in the day,makes $374.40 per day. That's going some, I guess."
"Whew," whistled Walter, "that's just like finding money."