The Mystery Boys and Captain Kidd's Message Page 13

  CHAPTER XII MODERN PIRATES

  Picking up the bundles of their clothes, the Seminole herded the chumsalong the trail; its limestone-coral hurt their tender, bare feet whilethey had hard work to avoid the deep, searing gashes which saw grassmakes.

  They came after a few minutes to a small open glade, almost bare ofsoil; here the Indian made a sharp, guttural sound. They turned.

  Gesturing to them to sit, he said “A-pok-es-chay,” or “All sit down!”They read the gesture but not the words. However, because of theircondition they preferred to stand. After he tossed their clothes to theground the Indian signed for them to spread the garments to dry againand then, turning, he walked swiftly out of sight.

  “This is a nice fix,” said Tom. “What will Mr. Neale do when he sees thesloop gone and doesn’t find us?”

  “He will think Sam has made off with us—or that Tom has been so scaredthat he helped Sam,” Nicky declared.

  As a point of truth, Mr. Neale at almost that moment gave up his waitingvigil, and with dejected shoulders bent to the oars for a long, grillingpull across the Sound. His purpose was to try to reach some revenueguards or others who could help him to overtake the _Treasure Belle_.

  They were not to meet their chief again for some time!

  They dressed when their clothes were dried. The first effort they madeto retrace the way down the trail was met by the appearance of theSeminole; he was on guard if not always visible.

  Seated, dejectedly idle, the chums waited. A brief exploration by Clifftoward the side of the trail they had not traversed yielded no way ofescape. It ended at another water path, this one going off from whatmight be a transfer and landing dock, off toward the North.

  “That’s where the Indians come with their own canoes,” Cliff told hiscompanions.

  “But where do they take the liquor?” Nicky wondered. “Up at the north ofthe Everglades there isn’t anything much.”

  “Just the place to load trucks, I suppose,” Cliff surmised.

  The afternoon dragged. They were not fed and no offer was made by theSeminole to converse. He seemed not to understand Nicky’s attempt toaddress him in English, but shook his head, waved the youth back andtouched his belt significantly.

  Night came and still they were in their uncomfortably hard position, andgrowing very hungry indeed.

  “If he means to starve us, why I’m going to make a break as soon as itgets pitchy dark,” Nicky whispered.

  But as soon as it got pitchy dark there came a peculiar call from thedock where Indians were supposed to arrive, and the young adventurerssoon found themselves the center of a small group of the Indians, oneabout their own age, but not at all approachable. With the green-glassedship’s lantern to show them, their captor made an explanation in hisguttural dialect and then left the younger member of the party on watchwhile, with the others, began transferring the cases from the furtherend of the trail to the dock, and thence, the chums inferred, to canoes.

  Cliff tried to establish conversation with their young guard.

  “No-chit-pay-lon-es-chay!” he said. They did not comprehend that heordered them to lie down and sleep, and kept eagerly arguing that theywere hungry, pointing to their open mouths, in the dim light, andrubbing their stomachs.

  “So-toke-kee-aw-mun-chee!” he said, holding out his hand, palm up. Hemeant, “Give me money,” but they had none and so the negotiations weresuspended.

  Finally, when, as Nicky declared, their backbones were shaking handswith their stomachs, a new voice was heard on the trail.

  Preceded by their earlier captor, bearing the lantern, whose queer lighthe threw full in the chums’ faces, there came a squatty, burly, ape-likewhite man, with a jutting jaw, sharp, mean eyes, but with a quirk of asmile at one side of his twisted mouth.

  “Ho!” he said, in a deep rumble, “thought you cleared out this morning.Saw the craft up anchor!”

  He made a gesture that sent the Indian away; the lantern, set down as heleft, gave the scene a weird green light.

  “Well, my lads,” began the man, “how’d you come to stay here, when thesloop sailed?”

  Nicky told him about their colored man and his terror of the ghostlyboat the night before.

  “Ho-ho-ho!” laughed their new acquaintance. “Scared him, did it? Weaimed to scare the whole passel of you—we went to enough trouble.”

  “Why did you want to scare us?” demanded Nicky eagerly.

  The other did not answer. He seemed to be deep in thought.

  “When are you going to feed us?” demanded Tom, more practically. Fearfulthough he might be in face of the unknown, he was no coward when face toface with a situation he could understand. And hunger was such asituation.

  “No eats! Hum—well—” The man rubbed a stubby, brownish beard,reflectively. “We can’t starve you—we aimed to drive you away, but thatdidn’t work—still, no use to starve you till we know all we want to——”

  He made a sign, as if he had decided on his course.

  “Go ahead, back down the trail,” he ordered. Nicky, Tom and Cliff lostno time in complying.

  Following, with the light, he directed them to the inlet where most ofthe cases were now being carried away. He spoke rapidly to the Seminolewho seemed to be the leader of the Indian faction, gave him some coins,and then ordered the three chums into his boat—the same one, for allthey knew, which they had seen the night before.

  “Now I see how they got away after scaring us,” whispered Tom as thecrew of four stoutly-built white men used their oars as paddles, workingthe boat further along the inlet until they came to a point where theymade still another turn and went down another narrow stream toward theSound.

  “Just ‘ring-around-a-rosy,’” Cliff declared. “That makes the spot thosethree trees are on an island—a key—after all!”

  “But we’ll get no chance at any treasure, there,” said Nicky dejectedly.

  Apparently the nearest of the crew thought this was important enough tocall to the attention of his captain. He turned and repeated Nicky’swords, with a guffaw.

  “Treasure, hey?” cried the bearded white man. “Who told you there wastreasure there?”

  “Why—” Nicky stammered, hesitated, then decided that it could make nodifference anyway whether he told it all or not—with Mr. Nealeunaccounted for, with Sam and his sloop gone, with their own selvescaptive, what chance had they for treasure? They’d be lucky, he thought,to be set ashore, marooned like old-time sailors—and spared a worsefate!

  He told of finding the old can on the islet.

  “Hum-m-m!” mused the man, clearing his throat. “Maybe you won’t find atreasure—but, anyhow, you’ll get a square meal—then, we’ll see!”

  “Where are you taking us?” demanded Nicky, once more brave.

  “Why, to our floating palace. Maybe—who knows—maybe it’ll turn out to bea treasure hunt, after all. In that case the boys’ll welcome it for achange from hi-jacking!”

  “Hi—hi—” Cliff gasped.

  “Hi—jacking, he said,” Tom explained.

  “I know it,” Cliff shivered, “and that makes it worse.”

  “Worse than being in the hands of rum-runners?”

  “Worse! I’d say so! Hi-jackers are pirates if ever anybody was. Therum-runners bring contraband, and illegal liquor, into the Statesagainst the law. But the hi-jackers are men who hold up their boats andtrucks and steal from them.”

  “I hadn’t heard about them,” said Nicky.

  “Well,” said Cliff under his breath as their boat scudded over thewaters of the Sound toward a small island near the upper end, “well, itwould be bad enough to be caught by people who break the law; but theones who prey on them are about the roughest and toughest people in theworld. They are modern pirates and no mistake!”

  “Well,” said Nicky, shrugging his shoulders, “we’ll get through somehow,and anyway—we eat!”

  Behind the island they
found a trim, beautifully built, low, rakishcraft. She was a power boat, about sixty feet long—a little more,perhaps. She lay low in the water and was of such a dull color that shecould scarcely be seen in the dark.

  They touched her side at a hanging ladder.

  “Up you go!” said the man, under his breath. Then, to someone at therail, “Here’s three young recroots, Don Ortiga!”

  “Don—” Nicky gulped. “What’s the matter?” whispered Tom.

  “Ortiga—” Nicky returned, “that’s the name of the man who owned thatother speed boat, back in Jamaica! Now—I wonder——”