The Boy Chums Cruising in Florida Waters
Page 14
CHAPTER XIV.
A CUNNING TRICK.
WALTER had still some seventy-five yards of his net in the water,when Charley, having finished with the captain, ran the launch downalongside of him. "Throw part of your fish in here and then just pullthe rest of your net aboard," he directed. "Don't stop to pick out thefish. I'll do that on the way home. We've got to hustle and get thosefish over to Clearwater. It is getting late and it will only take ashort time longer to spoil them. Some have been out of water nearly allnight."
He and Walter changed places, and while Charley picked out the fishwith nimble, skilful fingers, his chum started up the engine and headedthe launch back for camp. The sun was well up when they reached it,and pausing only to empty the fish from the skiffs into the launch,the launch was headed across for Clearwater, leaving behind the threeskiffs, and the captain to help Chris pull out the nets.
"I wish I could let you stay behind and rest up," Charley told hischum, "but I have to have someone to stay in the launch while I goup to the fish house," and he told his experience of the day beforewhich up to now he had not had the opportunity to relate. Walter wasindignant over the underhanded trick and was frankly puzzled by theaccount of Chris' ghost.
"It is certainly queer how we fall into difficulties in everythingwe undertake," he said. "Now, we have only been here a few days andalready we are involved in a smuggling case, have had trouble with agang of fishermen, and are tangled up in a ghost mystery. It does beatall how we always seem to get into trouble."
"We have always been lucky in getting out of it," Charley reminded him.
"Yes, but you know the old saying that 'the pitcher that goes often tothe well is sure to get broken.'"
"But the pitcher that does not go, gets no water," grinned Charley."The facts are that we all want to be making big money in a short timeand the big money lies in dangerous and unusual pursuits. If we stuckto the slow, well-beaten pursuits, we would have no more troubles thananyone else, I dare say."
"Well, I am beginning to get wearied with too many adventures," Walterconfessed. "If we pull out of this fishing business with a good sumto our credit, I'm going to hunt for some quiet pursuit like raisingchickens or tending sheep."
"We've got two months of the fishing season yet," remarked his chum,thoughtfully, "then comes the closed season when the law does notpermit anyone to fish. Well, if we have good luck, we may make a fairbit in two months. Of course, we cannot expect many catches like lastnight's but we ought to make something right along if we work hard."
Further conversation was ended by their arrival at the dock. Severalfishermen were lounging on the pier and they crawled to the edgelooking down with envious eyes at the launch's load. Among them,Charley noted Hunter's sallow, sneering face. He paused only to makethe launch fast then hurried up for the fish house.
Walter lay back on a seat and rested while he waited the arrival ofthe wagons. The fishermen, after a few idle questions as to where thecatch had been made, and which way the fish had been working, graduallydrifted away to their various duties, most of them heading for shore towork upon their nets and boats, but Hunter and a couple of companionsdisappeared in one of the shanties on the other side of the dock. "Sothat's where the rat lives," Walter reflected. "He would have a goodchance to take a pot shot at me from there if he dared but he wouldn'ttry anything so raw as that. I don't believe he would take such a riskin broad daylight with so many around." The lad's meditations wereinterrupted by the arrival of the first wagon from the fish house.He helped to load it and as soon as it was gone settled back to hisresting. As he lay back with every muscle gratefully relaxed, his quickear caught a peculiar sound. On his guard from Charley's experience ofthe day before, he raised up and looked carefully around. The soundwas easy to locate. It came from the shanty Hunter had entered. Hecould see something dripping down in large drops from the slat-likefloor. "They have got a leaky water pail or something of the kind,"he guessed, then, as a peculiar smell was wafted to his nostrils, helay back again with a grin. "Their gasoline can has sprung a leak,"he decided. "The gas is all running out. If it was anyone else butHunter, I'd call and tell him about it, but as it is his, it can allleak away for all I care," and he lay back and listened with a certainsatisfaction to the steady drip of the escaping fluid.
Half dozing he heard footsteps in the shack and a moment later thescratch of a match. The next instant he was on his feet, his heartbeating wildly. It had happened like a flash of lightning. All aroundthe launch the water was aflame. Fool that he had been. He had beencaught by a trick simple but cunning. That film of oil on the water hadonly needed a dropped match to set it aflame.
For a moment he stood helpless, bewildered by the sudden catastrophe.The oil had drifted all around the launch and she was in the center ofa sheet of flame. Already he could smell the blistering paint on herhull, and the heat smote him in the face like a fiery blast.
Only for a moment he stood thus paralyzed. Then his wits, accustomedto work quickly in emergencies, swept back. With a leap, he gained thebow and with his sheath-knife severed the rope which held the launchto the dock. Springing back to the engine, he shoved on the switch andflung the fly wheel over. Instantly the motor began to throb and thethreatened launch backed slowly out of the sheet of flame. Safe outsidethe danger zone, Walter shut off the engine and with his cap beat outthe patches of flame that clung to the launch's sides. Then he leanedover and grimly inspected his craft. Ten minutes before she had beena dainty thing in her coat of white, now she looked like an ancientwreck with her scorched and smoke-grimed sides on which the meltedpaint hung in ugly, dropsical blisters. The worst of it was there wasno redress for the damages done her. So cunning was the scheme that itbore all the semblance of an accident, though the wrathful lad knewit was anything but that. He could imagine scoundrels chuckling tothemselves in the closed shack and his blood boiled in his veins. Howwe would like to repay them for the fright and damage. He sat down fora moment and strove to gain control of his temper for he realized thatan outburst on his part would do no good and might make more trouble.As soon as he calmed down a bit, he started up the engine and workedthe launch back to the dock.
A wagon was waiting and its driver looked down in amazement at thesadly-altered launch. "What happened to you?" he questioned.
"Some gasoline and a match," Walter replied, carelessly. "No damagedone beyond some scorched paint. Please report it to Mr. Daniels andtell him we will repaint her as soon as there comes a spell of badweather when we cannot fish."
The driver departed with his load satisfied with the explanation foraccidents were common amongst the fishing fleet.
In half an hour longer the last of the fish had been carted away andCharley came hustling down with a beaming face, which fell as he caughtsight of the launch. He asked no questions, however, but jumped aboardand shoved off. Once under way Walter enlightened him.
"Those fellows are clever in their meanness," said Charley, withgrudging admiration. "One would not think from Hunter's looks that hehad much brains. We have certainly got to be on our guard every minute.That's twice in two days he has nearly put us out of business withoutexposing himself."
"I wish we could get even with him," declared Walter, wrathfully.
Charley grinned. "In a way we are even with him already. There must befive hundred dollars' worth of liquor in that cache and he dare nottouch a bottle of it as long as we are on the island. Seriously though,I would give a good deal to catch him in such a way that we could havethe law on him. Until we do, we will have to be watchful and avoidopen trouble. He is pretty sure to make a slip sooner or later. Thecleverest of rascals do, and then will be our chance if he does not getus first. I am beginning to understand why the rest of the fishermenstand in such fear of incurring his enmity. There is the captain andChris waiting for us on the dock. I wonder what's the matter. Theyought to have been through their work and the captain asleep long ago."
By this time, they had drawn near to the little pier an
d could plainlysee the little negro and the old sailor pacing about in evidentexcitement. In a few more minutes, the launch glided in alongside thedock and the cause of the excitement became apparent. The two werestanding by a heap of broken splintered planks that had once been theirextra skiff.
"What does this mean?" demanded Charley, in deepest discouragement.
"I dunno, Massa Chas," replied the grieved little negro, "but I s'pecthit's some ob dat white trash's doings. Late last night I hears a boatacoming. First off I thought hit was you-alls, but pretty soon I 'lowedit wasn't 'cause de engine didn't sound like yourn. Hit stopped at dedock an' I gets to a crack an' peeps out. Pretty soon hyar comes fourfellows astealing up de path. I up an' hails 'em an' dey stops short.I guess dey had reckoned dat dar was no one hyar 'cause ob de launchbeing gone. I shoots off de rifle an' dey took to der heels. Prettysoon I hears a breaking noise down by de dock an' den de put-put ob derboat, as dey puts off. An' dis mornin' I finds de skiff jes' disaway."
"And that ain't all," broke in Captain Westfield, pointing over towhere their extra net lay on its rack of poles.
The boys gave a gasp of dismay. The new unused net was a mass ofhanging strips. It had been literally cut and hacked to pieces.
"This sort of thing has got to stop," declared Charley, white withrage. "Our catch last night came to a hundred and fifty dollars but itwill cost forty-five dollars to replace that skiff, fifty dollars toreplace that net, and at least twenty dollars to repair the launch, andall that damage has been done in a few hours. Goodness knows what theywill do to us next. Things cannot go on this way any longer."
His companions looked at him questioningly but he shook his headdisparagingly. "I haven't a ghost of an idea what to do," he admitted,gloomily. "Maybe a little sleep will clear my head and bring some plan.I'm going up and turn in."
He staggered drunkenly as he made his way up to the cabin. He wasutterly exhausted, nerve and body. Once inside, he flung himself uponhis couch and was instantly asleep.
Chris tried to arouse him for dinner but it was like trying to awakenone, dead. Nature was claiming her due.