Part 16 (2/2)
Osceola shook his head. ”I doubt it. The smoke has almost disappeared, which means that the amphibian or what's left of her is sinking in the swamp. Anyway, without something to float on we can't leave this island.
The rock floor of the Everglades basin lies from six to twelve feet down in the muck and water. Even with a boat, traveling is no joke. That gra.s.s grows ten feet high in some places. You've seen what its saw-tooth edges have done to Sam. That's nasty stuff to fool with-take it from me!”
Bill stared gloomily over the prairie-like monotony of the Glades. Smoke from the wreck had now entirely disappeared. He shuddered as his mind dwelt for an instant on the horrible fate of its gangster-pa.s.sengers.
Then his eye caught the deeper green of trees in the far distance.
”There seem to be a lot of islands in this big swamp,” he said. ”Many of them inhabited, Osceola?”
”Not in this part of the Glades, Bill. My people are practically the sole inhabitants of this part of the world. And they live on islands, of course. But a long, long way from here.”
”Have you any plan?”
”Yes-I think so.”
”Well, spring it then, old top. You're in command from now on. I know as little about this kind of thing as-”
”As I do about flying,” supplemented Osceola with a grin.
”Rather less, if you ask me. Let's hear what you propose, Chief.”
The young Seminole did not reply at once. His bronzed forehead was corrugated in a frown. For several minutes he seemed lost in thought.
”There are just three things we've got to have,” he said suddenly. ”And we've got to have them right away.”
”Water, food and a boat,” Bill suggested.
”Right. If we're forced to, we can drink Glades water, but it's dangerous, and would probably make us ill. There ought to be a spring or two on this island; I reckon you're elected to the job of locating fresh drinking water, Bill, and bringing it into camp.”
”Aye, aye, sir.”
”Food, next,” mused Osceola. ”Sam-do you think you can hobble round well enough to attend to the commissariat?”
”I sure can,” grinned the old darkey. ”If I ain't mistook, I done catch a glimpse of half a dozen blue heron back yonder. Dey ain't chicken, a-course, but dey sure is a mighty fine eatin'. Loan me dat shooter of yourn, Ma.r.s.e Bill, and dis heah n.i.g.g.e.r will provide dinner.”
Bill pa.s.sed over his revolver. ”I'll trade you for your knife, Sam, while you get into your clothes. I've got to have something to make a water container-that is, when I find the water.”
He pulled his parachute toward him and commenced to untie the pack.
”Reckon I'll mosey along,” announced Osceola. ”I've got to manufacture a boat of some sort.”
”You ain't a-gwine to get far with dat knife o' yourn in makin' a dugout, Ma.r.s.e,” broke in Sam.
”But that's not my idea,” the Seminole said quietly, but without giving any further information about his plans. ”Bill, when you get through totin' water, look me up, will you? I'm going along there to the east.
You'll find me near the sh.o.r.e-and I'll probably need your help.”
”Okay,” sang out Bill, pulling his parachute from the pack. ”I'll join you as soon as I can.”
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