Part 19 (1/2)
Sam was helped aboard.
”You can't keep dis n.i.g.g.e.r from his dinner,” he grinned. ”Dat is, no 'gator can't. Did you see him, Ma.r.s.e Osceola? He was sure a big ol'
feller.”
”He sure was, Sam. Reckon he was as surprised as we were when the bunch of us came splas.h.i.+ng in on top of him. I was glad to get out of the water, though. It's not my idea of a happy death to form a meal for an alligator. It didn't seem to worry you much. The way you and Bill were holding pleasant conversation out yonder was a temptation to any 'gator or his friends.”
”So that's why you asked for help in righting the canoe?” Bill asked.
”You've guessed it. I've got my paddle, and while I collect the other two, I suggest that you clean the guns, Bill. Lucky they were strapped to us.” He ripped off the tail of his s.h.i.+rt and pa.s.sed it over. ”That will soon dry in the sun, and a gat that shoots is worth somebody else's s.h.i.+rt any day in the week.”
”There's one thing about traveling light,” admitted Bill, ”and especially when your canoe turns over. If you haven't anything to lose, you can't lose it.”
”You is forgettin' the grub, suh,” chimed in Sam.
”But you clung to that like a hero,” grinned Bill. ”When we get to wherever we're getting, I'll pin a medal on you, Sam. Just now, I'm out of pins.”
”I know you is kiddin' me,” returned the darkey, showing his teeth in a wide smile. ”Some day mebbe I'll hold you to dat promise, Ma.r.s.e Bill.”
”Okay, Sam. Pa.s.s over any hardware you may be toting. I want to clean it.”
That night, after, a weary day of paddling, they camped on an island which embraced several miles of dry land. Here Osceola shot a small deer, which they found a welcome change in diet, from the fish-tainted flesh of birds.
”There are just two things queer about this place,” remarked Bill as they rested beside the fire after supper.
”What are they?” asked the young Seminole chief.
”In every picture I've ever seen of the Florida swamps, they have snakes hanging in festoons from the trees-great, big fellows. Yet, so far, I haven't seen a single one.”
”That's because they don't happen to roost in trees. Not in this state.
That is, except in the artist's imagination. There are plenty of snakes, though-rattlers, moccasins and the like. Never go into high gra.s.s on these islands, or you are not likely to come out alive. What's the other queer thing?”
Bill stretched his arms above his head, and lay back comfortably on the warm earth. ”Last night,” he yawned, ”the mosquitoes nearly drove me crazy. Today there were very few, and tonight, I haven't felt one.
There's been no wind to speak of-they can't have been blown away.”
Osceola laughed. ”These glades aren't such bad places to live in. They have some advantages. Of course, it is a snake infested wilderness, but there is such a dearth of stagnant water that few breeding places are furnished for insects. You won't find mosquitoes except along the borders. We are well into the interior of the Everglades, now, that's why they've disappeared.”
”Three cheers and a tiger,” Bill applauded in a sleepy voice. ”Good night, everybody-I'm off to bye-bye.”
The next three days were counterparts of the first, except that the party met with not a single mishap. Whenever possible they kept to the waterleads, and Bill soon grew sick of the sight of pond lilies. But at times it was necessary to pole their way through the sawgra.s.s. Often the gra.s.s had to be cut away in front, and all three suffered from wounds made by its sharp-toothed edges.
About five o'clock on the fourth day of their journey, they came through half a mile of gra.s.s on to an open lead, free for once from lilies. This led toward a large island, little more than a mile away.
”Well, we're here at last,” announced Osceola, as they rested from their labors.
”_Here_ is right-but where?”
”Some of my people live on that island. We'll be-home-in half an hour.”