The Outdoor Chums on the Gulf Part 23

"Not me. This is my first trip up this far. Been down the coast, below Cedar Keys, more'n once. But I believe Jerry likes to hunt. Perhaps he might think it a good time to look around, and see if there happens to be a deer waiting to be cooked up."

Frank laughed.

"You've got Jerry sized up to a pretty fine point, boy. That's his weakness to a dot, and I wouldn't put it past him to wander off. I only hope he doesn't go and get lost. That would delay us, even if nothing worse came of it"

"There!"

As Will made this utterance there came the sharp report of a gun from the mainland, and undoubtedly the rifle was that of their absent chum.

"Wonder what he's struck now?" said Frank.

There came two more reports, in quick succession.

Bluff was already hastening in from the oyster bar, staggering under his load.

"Hey! D'ye hear all that shooting, fellows? Jerry's in some sort of trouble, I'll bet my hat!" he shouted excitedly.

"And we are unable to get ash.o.r.e, for he has the only boat, and the water is too shallow to push the big craft in. The question is, what shall we do?"

Frank looked into the faces of his two chums, and saw by their increasing pallor that they more than shared the fears that were beginning to gnaw at his heart in connection with the safety of the genial, good-natured Jerry Wallington.

CHAPTER XIX

WHAT HAPPENED TO JERRY

"I'd give something for a pair of wings just now!" exclaimed Will regretfully.

"Or that bally old balloon of Professor Smythe's, eh?" echoed Bluff, as he surveyed the stretch of water separating them from the mainland.

"But something _must_ be done! Bluff, get your gun!"

Frank was hastily removing the tennis shoes he wore aboard the boat.

"What're you going to do?" demanded Will, as Bluff made haste to obey.

"Two of us must get ash.o.r.e. Perhaps Jerry needs help."

"Oh! I see! And you think you can wade there?" queried Will, as he saw Frank drawing on the second pair of heavy shoes, that had already been in the water.

"That's what we have to do. Ready, Bluff?" cried Frank, s.n.a.t.c.hing up his own double-barreled shotgun.

"Where do I come in?" demanded Will as they slid overboard.

"You're the goalkeeper this time. Hold the s.h.i.+p, with Joe, here, till we get back."

"And they've taken all the guns along," grumbled Will as he watched his two chums making their splas.h.i.+ng way in the direction of the sh.o.r.e.

Happening to bethink himself of the old revolver on board, Will presently armed himself with the same, and tried to imagine that he presented an imposing appearance as the guardian of the motor-boat. Truth to tell, he would have really been far more dangerous handling his favorite camera, for he did not have it in him to harm a flea, if he could help it.

Meanwhile, Frank and his comrade were pus.h.i.+ng for the sh.o.r.e as rapidly as the conditions allowed. By exercising a certain amount of discretion they were able to follow up one of the oyster reefs that thrust out from the bank like the fingers of a human hand.

"We'll make it all right," declared Bluff presently.

"Yes, and without getting in deeper than half way up. But I'm wondering why we don't hear anything more from Jerry. He had six charges in his rifle, you know."

From Frank's tone it was easy to understand that he was worried.

"Say, perhaps that was meant for a signal," suggested Bluff suddenly.

"There were three shots, just as we've always agreed, but then they were scattered somewhat. I hardly agree with you, Bluff, though it may be true. I hope it is, and yet Jerry must have known we had no boat. He would hardly want us to come ash.o.r.e unless he was in a mighty serious pickle."

"Anyhow, we're nearly there, and must soon know the worst," said Bluff, whose face looked a bit peaked under the suspense.

More through accident than design, they landed close to the spot where the old palmetto shack could be seen. Frank pointed to an enclosure along the edge of the bayou, made by piling up logs and pieces of coquina rock.

"Turtle crawl," he said, as they hurried past, and Bluff only gave it one look, for his attention was taken up with the more serious matter that had brought them ash.o.r.e.

Advancing to the shack, Frank looked in, but there did not appear to be a living soul around.

He surveyed his surroundings with anxiety. Great live-oaks, with their crooked limbs covered with the trailing Spanish moss; tall palmettos, and shorter young ones of the same type; gumbo-limbo trees, wild plum, and several wild orange trees, made up the immediate surroundings.

"Oh! if we only had some idea which way he could have gone!" exclaimed Frank.

"Perhaps he left a trail," was the bright thought of Bluff.

"Almost impossible to map it out in this black sand," Frank replied; but, nevertheless, he started to look, since there was nothing else to do.

A dozen impossible things flashed through Frank's brain as he bent over to try and pick up the tracks of his missing chum. Whatever could have happened to Jerry? Usually he was able to take good care of himself; could it be possible that some inmate of the dilapidated shack had stolen upon him, bent upon robbery? In that case, how account for the shots?

"Let's shout," said Bluff again.

"A bright thought, and surely it can do no harm. Let me call singly, Bluff."

Thereupon Frank lifted up his voice and shouted:

"Jerry! Jerry! Where are you?"

The call rang through the thick jungle under the live-oaks. A small animal, possibly a 'c.o.o.n, scurried through the undergrowth. In an adjacent tree a Florida bluejay gave forth a discordant scream. A fox-squirrel barked saucily, and with a flirt of his bushy tail scrambled around to the other side of a hickory tree.

Then came a shout that thrilled them:

"Ahoy, there, Frank!"

"It's Jerry!" cried Bluff, ready to throw his hat into the air.