The Boy Chums Cruising in Florida Waters

by Frances Trego Montgomery

  CHAPTER XIII.

  CHRIS' STORY.

  THE little darkey's face was so serious that Charley could not doubtthat he had seen, or imagined he had seen, something out of thecommon. He was so long familiar with Chris' superstitious fears that,ordinarily, he would have scoffed at them, but now, he remembered theshooting the previous day and the mystery surrounding the disappearanceof the unseen marksman.

  "Tell me just what you saw, Chris," he said, quietly.

  "Hit was soon arter sundown," began the little negro. "I had dun gotde dishes washed up an' was fixin' to go to bed when I 'lowed that alittle swim in de gulf would make me sleep a sight better. So I startsdown for de beach. I ain't more den thirty feet away when I seed hitatween me an' de water. Hit was walking back an' forth, back an' forth,wid hits face turned all de time to de water. Hit was white, all white,Massa Chas."

  "What did you do?" questioned Charley, as the little negro paused,shivering at the recollection.

  "I don't know 'zackly, but I reckon I let out a yell an' shut my eyesto hide out dat awful sight. Den I remembers dat charm an' I grabsfor hit, saying some conjurer words daddy taught me. Dat sho's am apowerful charm, Massa Chas. Hit sho' am powerful."

  "Go on," said Charley, impatiently.

  "Dat charm sho' did de work, for when I opened my eyes dat ghost wasgone. Jes' dun melted into de air. Soon as my laigs quit shakin' sodat I could walk I makes for de cabin an' bars up de door an' windowstight. Dat's all I guess 'sept dat hit was a powerful long time afore Icould get to sleep an' I keeps awishin' for you-alls."

  "How long did you keep your eyes closed?" Charley questioned.

  "Hit seemed like a year but I reckon hit wasn't no more dan a minute."

  Charley arose, wearily. "Show me the spot where you saw it," hedirected.

  The little negro lad led the way without hesitation. When about twentyfeet from the water's edge, he stopped. "Hit was right hyar," hedeclared.

  Charley bent down and examined the sand carefully. A glance assuredhim that Chris' story had some basis in facts for numerous footprintswere impressed upon the firm, white sand. He studied them witheager interest. They were not fishermen's tracks, or those of hiscompanions, for the fishermen all wore big, heavy boots, and he andhis chums were shod in rough, broad-toed, working shoes, while thetracks indicated a small shoe--possibly a number seven--and their shapesuggested expensive footwear.

  "If I were a story book detective, Chris, I could tell from thesetracks the age, size, and color of the one who wore them; his height,the color of his hair, and what he ate for breakfast; but, as I amonly a common, every-day mortal, all I can make out of them is thatyour ghost was a man, and a pretty heavy one, too, judging from theway his feet sank into this hard sand; see, our shoes hardly make animpression. If his clothes matched his shoes, he must have been welldressed. I should say that he wasn't very old either for here is wherehe jumped at least five feet. That must have been when you worked yourcharm or rabbit's foot on him."

  "I say hit was a ghost," persisted Chris, stubbornly. "Hit was white,all white, an' hit vanished jes' like that."

  "And here's where it vanished," said Charley, following a line of thefootprints to where they led up into the fringe of palms. "He mightas well have vanished, though, for we cannot track him in this hardground; so we may as well go back to the cabin. Hereafter, Chris, justas soon as it comes dark, go into the cabin and bar the door andnothing will hurt you. The charm will guard you from any stray ghostsand the bars and rifle will keep anything else out."

  "Dat's all right, Massa Chas," said the little negro, bravely. "I ain'tscared much ob de ghost now, I'ze seed how dat charm works. An' golly!I reckon dat ghost is de only thing dis nigger ever was scared of."

  Vain as was this boast, Charley knew it was true. He had seen theplucky little negro in many dangers and had never known him to show asign of fear except at the unknown which excited all the superstitiousfears of his race.

  It still lacked an hour to time to go fishing and Charley lay down onhis couch but he could not sleep. He lay quiet, puzzling over Chris'experience. Coupled with the mysterious shots of the day before, itmade a problem that defied all his attempts at solution. "Who could theunseen one be? Certainly not one of the fishermen, the tracks provedthat. Chris' oft-repeated declaration that the ghost was all in whitesuggested that it might be a tourist. Tourists often dressed in whiteduck or linen in the tropics, while thinner-blooded natives always worewarmer clothing at this season of the year. But what would any touristwant on the island, and above all, why remain hidden. After all, themysterious one was friendly to them so why worry about the matter? Butwas he friendly? Might not those mysterious shots have been aimed atthem as well as the fishermen?" And then a startling thought occurredto the lad. "Might not it be an escaped lunatic?" That would explainthe queer actions for which he could find no other logical reason. Thethought was most distasteful. A lunatic at large on the island, andarmed with a deadly weapon was more to be feared than all the hostilefishermen. With an effort, Charley shook off his gloomy speculationsand rising, proceeded to don his fishing clothes. He was dead tired andwould gladly have staid in this night but he felt that he must not holdback. They must fish every night while the weather was fine and theycould get out. There would be stormy nights when they could not get outand they must work their best to make up for their lack of experience.

  When he was fully dressed, he aroused his companions. They were stillstiff and sore from the unaccustomed labor and their hands were swollenand painful from the many pricks they had received, but their longsleep had refreshed them and they attacked with ravenous appetites thehearty supper Chris had cooked.

  "I am going in the opposite direction to-night," Charley announced, asthey took their places in the launch and started out. "I got a wirelessmessage to-day telling me that there is a big bunch of fish to thenorth of us. It's a fact," he replied, in answer to his companion'squestioning looks. "All day there has been a big flock of pelicanshovering over the water in that direction. They often follow up largebunches of fish to pick up the ones wounded by sharks."

  They had run but a little way when he gave the order to cast anchor. "Ithink we have gone far enough," he said. "It is easier to find a bigschool at night than in the day time and I do not wish to run by themin the launch. Somehow, I've got a hunch that we are going to strikea big bunch, from the space those pelicans were spread out over thewater."

  His suppressed excitement communicated itself to his companions andthey fidgeted about, impatient for dark to come.

  It came at last and they lost no time in getting away from the launch.

  For perhaps a mile they rowed on in silence, then Charley ceased rowingand thrust an oar down deep into the water. He viewed the result withdissatisfaction. "For some reason the water does not fire to-night,"he announced. "It happens that way very often. I am sorry for we'llhave to fish by sound, and that is much more difficult. Now whenever Istop rowing both of you stop also. That will give me a better chance tolisten."

  Resuming his oars, he continued his cautious advance, pausing everylittle while and straining his ears for the faintest sound from thewater.

  At last, he stopped suddenly. His quick ear had caught the sound forwhich he had been waiting.

  "Listen!" he cried, excitedly.

  From far ahead came a faint rippling murmur frequently broken by softpats upon the water.

  "That's the school," he declared, eagerly. "It's a big one and they areworking this way. All we have to do is to hold our boats in positionand wait. They are coming straight for us."

  "If those are mullet, they don't sound as though they amounted tomuch," said Captain Westfield, doubtfully. "I've heard mullet jump whenthey made a splash like you'd thrown an anchor overboard."

  "Mullet working that fashion, you never want to run," Charleyexplained. "Fishermen have a saying: 'Never fish jumping mullet.' Whenmullet are schooled up they do not jump high because of injuring othersin their fall. That pat
ting sound you hear is the flipping of theirtails above water."

  Keyed up to the highest pitch our three fishermen waited the coming ofthe steadily advancing multitude.

  "Pass me the end of your net, Captain," Charley at last directed, in avoice that trembled with excitement.

  All ready with oars dipped he waited, waited until even in the darknessWalter could see the advancing school coming, bearing a tiny wavebefore them. Nearer crept the wave, fifty feet, thirty feet, twentyfeet, then--"Go!" Charley shouted, and the boats, driven by thestrength of excitement, leaped in amongst the frightened school. Aroundthem the water boiled and foamed with the frightened fish. They struckthe sides of the skiffs like hailstones on a tin roof. They batteredagainst the dipped oars making them vibrate like an electric current.

  Charley held on his course as long as he dared before giving the signalto close up. When they came together, the end of his net barely crossedover Walter's.

  "I came near losing them all by being too greedy," he panted. "A fewfeet more and my net would not have reached you and they would havepoured out of the gap like quicksilver. Well, I guess we've got enoughfor our breakfast, all right."

  "How many do you think we've got?" Walter questioned, eagerly.

  "Wait and see," Charley laughed. "Come on and let's get drummed up goodand start picking up as quick as we can. I fancy we've got plenty ofwork ahead of us."

  The drumming finished, they rowed back to the ends of their nets.Walter leaned over and dragged his aboard, then gave a shout ofdelight. "They are sticking in it like pins in a pin cushion," heshouted.

  "Same here," agreed Charley, happily, "and I guess, the captain is inthe same fix."

  In a few minutes their boats had drifted apart and put a bar tofurther conversation, but Walter grinned as there floated over thewater Charley's voice singing all the songs he knew, and the captain'swhistle going over and over the one and only tune he knew, "TheSailor's Hornpipe." Evidently things were coming well with them.

  For himself, he labored steadily and happily on for every yard of netpulled aboard yielded up at least a dozen silvery captives. Time flewwith flying footsteps and when, at last, he straightened up to geta drink of water from his jug, he was surprised to see a gray lightstealing over the waters. Day was breaking and the night had passedaway. He could see Charley and the captain, plainly. Charley's netwas all aboard and he was helping the old sailor with his. Both theirskiffs lay dangerously low in the water. He glanced down at his ownboat. Her gunwales were nearly level with the water under the weight ofthe fish in her, and he had still a hundred yards of net to pick up.