The Boy Chums In The Forest Part 4

It was a still, white, and shaken Walter who once more rode beside his silent chum.

"You saved my life, Charley, and it's a poor return to merely thank you," he said earnestly.

"Don't say anything about it," protested Charley, cheerfully. "The shoe may be on the other foot next time, and I know you will do the same for me then."

But Walter had not finished. "I want to say," he continued, "that you are the only one of us qualified to lead this party. Hereafter, what you say goes with me. I know it will with Captain Westfield too."

"There's Chris," said Charley with a smile. "I fear he will have to have his little lesson before he gets in that frame of mind. Walt," he continued earnestly, "I do not want the responsibility but I am not going to s.h.i.+rk it now that it is thrust upon me. Frankly, though, I can't help wis.h.i.+ng that this trip was over and we were safe back in town once more."

"Thinking about our visitors of the other night!" Walter inquired.

Charley nodded. "If they meant any good to us, why did they not make their presence known to us," he reasoned. "Mark my words, we have not seen the last of them,--but hush, here comes the captain and Chris, there is no need to worry them with vague conjectures."

"See that prairie ahead, Charley?" asked the captain. "Chris says there's a big bird in the middle of it, but I can't see anything but gra.s.s."

The party was now only a few hundred yards from the small prairie-like patch. Charley rose in his stirrups and scanned it carefully.

"Chris is right," he said. "It's a big sand-hill crane."

"Good to eat, Ma.s.sa Charley?" demanded the little darky, eagerly.

"I have eaten some that were equal to the finest turkey."

"Dat settles it," Chris shouted. "Golly, I reckon dis n.i.g.g.e.r goin' to show you chillens how to shoot some. My shot, I seed him first."

"Don't shoot, Chris," said Charley, gently, "you can't get it and it won't be fit to eat if you do."

But Chris' obstinacy and pompous vanity were aroused. "Tink dis n.i.g.g.e.r can't shoot, eh? You-alls just watch an' Chris will show you chillens somfin'."

Charley said nothing more but his mouth set in a grim line. "Time for his lesson," he murmured to Walter.

Chris waited until they had come within a hundred yards of the crane when he unslung his rifle and dismounted while the others reined in to watch the outcome.

The little darky rested his gun on his saddle and took careful aim.

The crack of his rifle was followed by a hoa.r.s.e squawk and the tall bird tumbled over lifeless.

Chris danced with delight. "I got 'em, I'se got 'em," he cried. Like a flash he was on his pony and galloping towards the dead bird.

"Come back, Chris," shouted Charley, but the little darky galloped on unheeding.

And now the rest of the party beheld a curious thing. Chris' pony had reached the edge of the gra.s.s and had stopped so suddenly as to nearly throw its rider over its head. In vain did the little negro apply whip and spur. Not a step further would the animal budge. They saw Chris at last throw the reins over the pony's head and leaping from his saddle plunge into the gra.s.s. Only the top of his head was visible but they could trace his progress by that and it was very, very slow. At last he reached the crane and slinging it over his shoulder began to retrace his footsteps. His return was infinitely slow, but at last he regained his pony and dragging himself and his burden into the saddle headed back towards the group of curious watchers. As he drew nearer they stared in silent amazement. He was wet from head to foot, his clothing was in tatters, and the blood flowed freely from a hundred cuts on face, hands and arms.

He rode up to Charley with a sickly smile. "I got 'em, Ma.s.sa Charley,"

he boasted weakly.

Without a word Charley reached over and took the crane from him.

Stripping away the feathers, he exposed the body of the great bird and held it up to view. The captain and Walter gave an exclamation of disgust. The body was merely a framework of bones with the skin hanging loosely from it.

"It's their moulting season," he explained simply.

"Why you doan tell me dat place full of water, dat gra.s.s cut like knife, an' dat ole mister crane wasn't no good nohow," Chris demanded, hotly.

Charley gazed at the pathetic, wretched, little figure and his conscience smote him.

"I told you not to go, Chris," he said gently, "but you would do it.

This time there was plenty of time to explain to you that what you thought was merely a plot of gra.s.s was really a saw-gra.s.s pond, and that sand-hill cranes are not fit for use this season of the year; but suppose that a danger suddenly threatened us. Is it likely, Chris, that I would always have time to stop and explain just why I wanted you to do this or that?"

But Chris was suffering too much pain and humiliation to be soothed by Charley's explanation. With a snort of anger he dug the spurs into his pony's flanks and soon was far ahead of the rest of the party. In a few minutes he came tearing back to them, his face s.h.i.+ning with excitement.

"River ahead, river ahead," he shouted.

"It's the St. Johns," declared Captain Westfield, scarcely less excited. "There's no other river in these parts."

Although they spurred forward their jaded steeds the animals were so worn out that it was dusk before they reached the river bank, and they went into camp immediately.

After the supper was over, Chris approached Charley, who was sitting apart from the rest, grave, silent, and evidently buried in deepest thought. The little darky began awkwardly, "Ma.s.sa Charley, Ma.s.sa Cap say you de leader an' he going to do just what you say widout axin' no questions, Ma.s.sa Walt say same ting, an' I guess Chris better say same, now. Golly, I jus' reckon dis n.i.g.g.e.r made a big fool of hisself over dat bird."

But although he answered Chris lightly and kindly, Charley was not elated over his unsought leaders.h.i.+p. Vague suspicions were flitting through his mind, and his new responsibility was weighing heavily upon his young shoulders. As the evening wore on he still sat silent, buried in thought. The captain was reading aloud from an old newspaper he had brought along. Suddenly Charley straightened up, and a swift glance pa.s.sed between him and Walter.

CHAPTER V.

THE 'GATOR HUNTERS.

The captain was laboriously spelling out the scare-head articles by the flickering firelight.

"Desperadoes at large."

"Last night twelve convicts, all of them life prisoners, escaped from E. B. Richardson's turpentine camp near Turnbull. The escape was effected by their overpowering the guards while their supper was being served them. One guard was killed and the balance were gagged and tied up to posts in the barracks. The revolters stripped their prisoners of arms, ammunition and what money they had. Next they broke into the commissary, taking a large amount of clothing and provisions and wantonly destroying the rest. They then made their escape on horses belonging to the guards. As soon as their absence was discovered, bloodhounds were put upon the trail which led towards the interior.

The dogs were soon completely baffled, however, for the fugitives had evidently taken to water whenever they came near a pond or creek. This ruse, as well as the whole uprising, is believed to have been the headwork of 'Indian Charley,' one of the escaped prisoners, who, it will be remembered, was drummed out of his tribe and sentenced by the courts for the murder of a white settler last spring. Small outlying settlements will rejoice when this body of hardened desperate men are once more in the grasp of the law."

"I've got it!" exclaimed Charley, so suddenly that the captain looked up in mild surprise.

"Got what?" he inquired.

"A pretty bad attack of sleepiness," Charley said with a.s.sumed lightness. "I feel all done up to-night. Guess I'll turn in."

But although he was first to turn in, it was along in the wee small hours of morning before slumber crept in on his tired brain.

He was awakened by Walter shaking him vigorously.

"Get up, you lazy rascal, get up. The sun is half an hour high, and breakfast is ready. Get up and gaze upon the beautiful St. Johns."

"What does it look like?" inquired Charley, sleepily, as he buckled on his heavy leggins and strapped on his pistol belt.

"For a dismal, wretched, man-forsaken stretch of country it beats anything I ever saw," Walter exclaimed in disgust. "The river itself is about a half mile wide, but it twists, turns, and forks every few yards so as to puzzle a corporation lawyer. The sh.o.r.es for half a mile back from the water are nothing but boggy marsh, with here and there a wooded island. Ugh, the sight of it is enough to make a man homesick."