The Motor Boat Club in Florida; or, Laying the Ghost of Alligator Swamp

by H. Irving Hancock

  CHAPTER XIV

  TOM HALSTEAD, STRATEGIST

  A FORBIDDING countenance was that worn by black Mr. Kink.

  He belonged to the worst species of shiftless, vagrant Southern darkey.He was as different from the respectable, dependable house negro as astormy night is from a fair one. Kink had served many terms in jail erehe gained enough in the wisdom of his kind to take to the tracklesswastes of the Everglades. The fellow’s face was scarred from many abrawl. He seldom laughed; when he did, it was in cruelty.

  Kink was slighter, and far less powerful than Jabe, though he possessedfar more of wiry agility than the other negro.

  “Ah jes’ done hope yo’ make a move dat yo’ hadn’t done oughter,”he muttered, scowling at young Halstead, then fingering the riflemeaningly.

  “Make your mind easy,” retorted Captain Tom. “I’ve no notion for layingmyself liable to a rifle bullet.”

  “Ef yo’ jes’ gib me one ’scuse,” glowered Kink.

  As if to settle the fact that he did not intend to do anything of thesort the motor boat captain half-closed his eyes, studying the ground.

  Yet, not for a moment did Halstead cease to hope that he might finda way out of this predicament. Only one black man—one rifle—and thatcapable little motor launch tied so close at hand!

  Presently Kink rested the butt of the rifle briefly on the groundwhile from one of his pockets he drew forth an old corn-cob pipe and apinch of coarse tobacco grown in the Everglades. No sooner did he havethe pipe going than the negro, watchful all the while, picked up thehunting rifle once more.

  “Pretty rank tobacco you have,” observed Tom Halstead, though he triedto speak pleasantly.

  “Best Ah can get in dis great swamp,” growled Kink. “Yo? got any erboutyo’ clo’es?”

  “I don’t smoke,” Halstead replied.

  “Umph!” growled Kink, as though his opinion of the boy had fallenseveral notches lower.

  “Do you never get hold of any good tobacco from the outside world?”questioned Tom.

  “Meanin’ sto’ tobacco?” suggested Kink.

  “Yes.”

  “Sometimes,” admitted Kink. “But not of’en, ob co’se.”

  “How long since you’ve had a cigar!” asked Tom, with an appearance ofpleasant interest.

  “Real cigar, made ob sto’ tobacco!” demanded Kink.

  “Yes.”

  “Lemme see. Well, it must been a yeah, now.”

  “Too bad,” muttered the boy, half-pityingly.

  “Oh, Ah could git er sto’ cigar,” volunteered Kink, scowling blackly.

  “How?”

  “By going’ to a sto’, ob co’se. Den yo’ know w’ut happen?”

  “What?” demanded Tom.

  “W’ite fo’ks, dey done tie er rope ’roun’ mah neck an’ stretch it.Yassuh. Yo’ see, I’m a plumb bad niggah,” Kink added, with a strongtouch of pride. “W’ite fo’ks down ’round’ de bay, dey t’ink Ah’m goodfo’ nothin’ but hang up. Wi’te fo’ks powahful ’fraid ob Kink!”

  “As soon as I am really missed there’ll be a lot of white folks downthis way, I reckon,” began Tom. “You see——”

  Then, purposely, he paused. For a few seconds he looked as though hewere trying to conceal his thought. Next he peered, as though covertly,northward under the trees.

  When he saw Kink regarding him, Tom Halstead pretended to look whollyat the ground. Presently, however, he raised his glance to peer oncemore northward. So stealthy did the motor boat boy seem about thewhole transaction that Kink, accustomed to being hunted through theEverglades, found himself peering, also, in the direction from whichchase would come.

  The first time he glanced, Kink turned again, almost immediately. ButHalstead was sitting in the same place, so motionless and innocent,that the negro ventured another and longer look to the northward inthe hope of seeing that which had appeared to give the boy such keenpleasure.

  Like a flash, now, though noiseless as a cat, Tom Halstead leapedto his feet. Before Kink had thought of turning, the young skipperlaunched himself through the air.

  He struck Kink a blow that sent that fellow sprawling. Like a pantherin the spring, Halstead bore his enemy to the ground, striking savagelywhile he wrested the rifle from the negro.

  “Now, not a sound out of _you_!” warned Halstead, cocking the rifle andholding the muzzle not many inches from the fellow’s head. “Are yougoing to be good?” he demanded, in a cool voice that was threatening inits very quietness.

  “Yassuh!” admitted Kink, in a whisper.

  “Then don’t get up, unless I tell you to, and don’t make a sound ofany kind,” warned Skipper Tom, standing before the sitting negro.“First of all, take that box of cartridges out of your pocket, and tossit a little distance away from you.”

  The late guard obeyed. Tom, still keeping the fellow under close watch,recovered the cartridges.

  “Now, you get down to the boat,” commanded Halstead. “Don’t make anynoise and don’t ask any questions. There, that’s right. Halt. Now, inthe locker under your hand, you’ll find some cord. Pull it out.”

  As the negro obeyed, Tom ordered him to lie face downward on theground, next putting his hands together behind his back. Picking up thecord, Halstead made a noose at one end. This he slipped over Kink’scrossed hands. Drawing the noose tight, he next knelt on the negro’sback, rapidly lashing the hands ere the fellow could make any movementto wrench himself free.

  “Remember what I said about making a noise,” warned Tom. Going to thesame locker he took out a quantity of engineer’s waste—an excellentstuff for making a gag. Some of this he forced into the black man’smouth, making it fast with cord. All that remained was to knot thefellow’s ankles together just loosely enough so that he could barelywalk, yet could not run.

  “Now, onto your feet with you, my man,” muttered Halstead, raising him.“Now, over into the boat with you. Gently. Lie down out of sight. Andbear in mind, if I get a sight of your head above the gunwale until I’min the boat, it’ll be all up with you!”

  Kink’s eyes rolled until only the whites could be seen. This blackcaptive understood very well who had the upper hand.

  Now, Tom turned his attention to untying the bowline.

  “Kink! Ah say, Kink, yo’ black rascal!”

  It was the voice of Jabe calling. The very sound made Halstead shiver,at first.

  “Kink, Ah say! Kain’t yo’ heah me?”

  “Oo-oo-oo-ee!” shrilled Tom, knowing that to speak would be to betrayhimself.

  Then back toward the jungle stole the motor boat boy, close up to thepoint where a barely distinguishable path ran through. Here he droppedto one knee, holding the rifle to his shoulder.

  “Kink, yo’——”

  Jabe, coming through the bushes just then, stopped short, blinkingfast, his knees trembling and knocking together.

  “You know just what is in the wind,” warned Tom’s low voice. “I’veonly to pull the trigger of this gun. Now, get ahead of me and march,without tricks!”

  Caught like this, looking straight down into the muzzle of a gun behindwhich was a pale, resolute face, Jabe allowed himself to show the whitefeather. He marched, as ordered, throwing himself on his face close bythe bow of the launch.

  With Jabe Tom Halstead repeated the tactics he had employed againstKink, though he took pains to make the lashings and the knots doublysecure. Then Jabe, bound and gagged, and with but bare freedom ofaction for his feet, was helped over into the launch beside his friend.

  “Now, you two start any kind of motion or sound, if you want to seejust what a sailor would do under such circumstances,” warned Halstead,in a low, dry tone.

  With the rifle still cocked, he stood up, for an instant, to plan justwhat his next move should be.

  “Two out of the four!” he chuckled inwardly. “Fine! What wouldn’t Igive to have the white pair in the same fix! Careful, Tom, old fellow!Don’t get rash. Try to get away from here while you’ve the chance!”


  He was about to step into the launch, when he heard steps not far away.Someone else was coming through the jungle. Halstead’s heart beatrapidly, his color coming and going swiftly.

  “That’s likely to be Sim and the other fellow, coming together,” hemuttered. “I can’t get the launch away before they’ll be here. Yet thetwo together—how on earth can I handle ’em? For I couldn’t shoot eitherin cold blood.”

  Yet something had to be done, and with great speed. So the motor boatboy slipped back up to the beginning of the path through the jungle.Barely thirty seconds later Jig Waters, Sim’s white comrade, steppedboldly through into the open.

  Right then and there, however, Jig’s boldness forsook him.

  “Hold on, thar! I’m all yo’s!” stammered Jig, softly, holding uphis hands. He, too, was marched down to the water’s edge and servedprecisely as the negroes had been.

  “Three!” throbbed Tom Halstead. “Oh, if I could only stow away all fourand take ’em back to civilization with me!”