CHAPTER XVII.
THE FLIGHT BY NIGHT.
As the canoes glided silently towards the convicts' camp the paddlestrokes of the fugitives grew slower and more guarded, the blades ofthe paddles were no longer lifted clear of the water lest the fallingdrops from them should be heard by those on shore. The river narrowedsuddenly opposite the point, and the canoes would be compelled to passwithin a hundred feet of the enemy's camp. All of the convicts mightbe in the woods surrounding the hunters' camp, waiting to close in ontheir supposed victims, but there was a chance that they had had theforesight to count upon this very attempt at escape and had left someof their number on the point to cut off the retreat.
Charley thought of all this as he knelt in the stern of his littlecraft and plied the paddle slowly and with infinite caution, his everynerve tense, and sight and hearing strained to catch any sound ofmovement on the rapidly nearing point. Were it white men only thatthey were seeking to elude, he would have felt far less apprehension,but he recognized that in the person of Indian Charley they had to dealwith a mind crafty and cunning, that would be likely to provide againstthe very move they were making. Even in his anxiety, Charley could notbut notice and admire the marvelous skill with which the young Indianin the dugout handled his clumsy craft. He hugged close to the farthershore and glided along its border as noiselessly as a shadow. Thecaptain, although but little used to the paddle, was also doingsurprisingly well and was following closely in the wake of the dugout.Silently the dugout at last glided past the dangerous point, and amoment later the captain's canoe also slipped gently by.
Charley gave a sigh of relief. They were safely past and could laughat any attempted pursuit in the clumsy dugouts the convicts possessed.
But that one unguarded moment of relief was disastrous in its result.In a deep, careless stroke, his paddle struck a submerged log and theslender blade snapped short off with a loud crack, the ticklish canoecareened suddenly to one side, then righted again with a sullen splash.At the sound the silent point quickly stirred with life. There was thehum of excited voices and a blinding flash of flame lit up thedarkness, followed by the sharp crack of rifles and the hum ofbullets,--they were discovered.
"Give way all," shouted Charley, as he fumbled in the darkness for thespare paddle, which he at last succeeded in finding. "Are you hurt,Walt?" he called anxiously to his companion.
"Not a bit," answered his chum cheerfully, "but hurry up or we will begetting another volley."
The canoe had drifted beyond the point before her way died out, but wasstill less than a hundred yards from it. By the splashing of water theboys could tell that the convicts were launching one of the dugouts inpursuit. With vigorous strokes Charley sent their light craft flyingahead; a few minutes and they would be out of rifle-shot and out ofdanger, but again there was the crack of rifles and Charley called tohis chum with a voice hoarse with pain, "You'll have to take her, Walt,they got me that time."
"Bad?" cried Walter anxiously, as they changed places.
"In the shoulder," weakly, "but don't mind about me. Shove her aheadas fast as you can, the others have got quite a start of us, and we'vegot to catch them."
For half an hour Walter paddled silently on, putting all his strengthinto the strokes that sent the light craft leaping ahead, leaving thepursuing dugout far behind.
"Charley," he called at last, "isn't it time we were up with at leastthe chief's dugout?"
But only silence greeted his question, his plucky chum had fainted frompain and the loss of blood.
For a few moments Walter let the canoe drift, while he pondered as towhat he should do. He felt sure that they had passed the captain andhis companions--but how? In the excitement of the pursuit he must havepassed unnoticed a point where the river branched and had taken thewrong fork. There were, he knew, dozens of such forks to the river andthe mistake was one that might easily have been made under anycircumstances. The question now was what to do about it. To returnwas to run the risk of falling into the hands of the convicts, and thechance of finding the stream the others had taken was exceedinglysmall. There might be a dozen tributaries between him and theconvicts' point, and how was he to tell which was the right one? Indesperation he crawled forward to his unconscious companion andsprinkled his face again and again with water from the river.
At last Charley opened his eyes with a moan of pain.
"We're lost," shouted Walter eagerly. "I can't find the captain orchief, what shall I do?" He bent his head to catch the feeble answerfrom the wounded lad's lips.
"Keep on, keep on. When the river forks, take the largest stream,and--" but Charley had fainted again.
With a heavy heart, Walter crept back to his place in the stern andresumed the paddle. It was a terrible situation for a young,inexperienced lad; lost on a great river in a frail canoe, pursued byrelentless enemies, and alone, except for a wounded, and perhaps dyingcompanion. It was enough to strike terror into one much older than ourboy hunter.
Throughout the long night the despairing lad paddled steadily on,praying for the day to break. At last it came with a blaze of glory inthe east. When it grew light enough to see, he rose cautiously andgazed around him.
The prospect was disheartening enough. The river had narrowed to lessthan a hundred yards in width and wound and twisted amongst the wasteof marsh that stretched desolately ahead and astern as far as the eyecould see. To the east and west the marsh extended back at least amile before it met solid timbered land, here and there, and anoccasional long point jutted out until it met the stream. Although theweary lad strained his eyes in all directions, not a sign could he seeof the other canoes or of any human life. With a sigh of despair, hesank again to his knees and crawled forward to where his chum lay halfunconscious and moaning in pain.
Dipping his handkerchief over the side, he gently sponged Charley'spale face with it.
The contact of the cold water seemed to revive the wounded lad. Heopened his eyes and attempted to smile, although his lips weretwitching with pain. "What a nuisance I am, old chap," he said faintly.
"Not a bit," declared Walter, cheerfully, overjoyed at his return toconsciousness. "Here, take a drink of this cold water, and then I amgoing to have a look at your wound."
With his hunting-knife, Walter cut away the bloody shirt from theshoulder and exposed the gaping hole to view. It was still bleedingslightly, but he noted with satisfaction that the bullet had passedcompletely through the fleshy part of the shoulder without touching thebone, a painful wound, but not a fatal one. He washed it clean withriver water and bound it up with strips from his own shirt. "You'll beall right in a few days," he declared cheerfully. "Now just lay quiet.I am going to paddle in to the nearest point and start a fire and makeyou some broth."
Walter's heart was lighter than it had been in many hours as he againresumed his paddle. Day had brought fresh hope and courage. Charleywas getting along far better than he had dared to hope during thenight. He soon would be well enough to take command, and then, thoughtWalter, they would soon find their friends. He had great confidence inCharley's ability to get them out of their present predicament.
Suddenly Walter paused in his paddling and sat staring at the point,which was now scarce a hundred yards distant. A thin wisp of smokecurled up above the thick growth of palmettos with which the point wascovered.
"Charley," he called softly, "there is someone on the point; they havejust started up a fire."
"Better sheer off and give it a wide berth, then," counseled his chum."If it were the captain or the chief, you would see the canoes."
"But the boats may be pulled up among the mangrove bushes," Walterobjected. "If it should be the captain and Chris, just think what ourpassing by them would mean. We might never see them again, Charley. Iam going to have a look."
"All right," agreed his chum, "but be very careful, Walt."
The fire was located well in on the point, and Walter steered to landsome distance
out from it. A few strokes of the paddle sent the lightcanoe gliding in amongst the mangrove bushes that fringed the shore.Climbing out upon the curious gnarled roots, Walter pulled the canoefar enough in to effectually screen it from sight. Next he examinedhis pistols to see that they were properly loaded, and with a partingword of cheer for his chum, he made his way slowly and cautiously overthe intervening roots to the shore.
He soon found that it was no easy task he had set himself. Betweenhimself and the fire fifty yards away, intervened the heaviest growthof timber he had ever seen; palms, sweet gums, satinwoods, and pinesmingled in close and wild confusion, while the ground beneath them wasa matted mass of vines and creepers.
For a moment Walter hesitated. Some of the vines and creepers, heknew, were poisonous. To touch them meant sores, swellings, andsuffering. But it was only for a moment he paused. The thought of howmuch might depend on his errand drove him on. Tearing two strips fromhis already tattered shirt, he wrapped them around either hand, anddropping on hands and knees he cautiously wound his way towards thefire.
His progress was slow and painful. Dangling brier vines drew bloodfrom arms and face, and sharp thorns repeatedly lacerated hands andknees. At each move forward he had to pause and remove the deadbranches and twigs from his path lest their cracking should betray himto the campers. At last, however, he could catch the sound of voices,and wriggling forward with infinite caution, he reached a place fromwhich he could get a glimpse between the trees at the group gatheredaround the fire.
The sight was not reassuring. Near the blaze a half dozen of theconvicts lay lounging at their ease, while another one was busilyengaged in making coffee and frying bacon. The neighing of ponies inthe background told the watcher how they had arrived at the pointbefore him. They must have ridden most of the night to have coveredthe distance, and Walter felt a sinking of heart as he realized thedetermination of their pursuit. The conversation that came to his earsdid not tend to reassure him.
The convicts were evidently tired and in bad humor, and a hot argumentwas raging.
"I tell you it's all foolishness, this losing sleep and wearingourselves out," declared a tall, thin, pasty-faced individual. "Here'smy plan: just break up into parties of two or three and each partystrike out for a different town and catch a freight out of the state.I 'low we're just wasting time and making trouble for ourselves byfollowing up them chaps."
"Bill Salino, you've got as little sense as courage," declared a manwhom Walter recognized as the leader of the gang. "The time forscattering and getting out of the state has gone by. There will be menwatching for us at every point, and to be caught means hanging for allhands now. We've got to lay quiet here for six months or so until theygive up watching for us. We're safe enough here unless them chaps getaway and bring the Indians or a sheriff's posse down on us; and theywon't get away if I have to follow them into the heart of theEverglades," he declared vindictively.
Boy Chums in the Forest; Or, Hunting for Plume Birds in the Florida Everglades Page 17
