The Boy Chums in the Florida Jungle

by Ethel C. Brill

  CHAPTER VIII.

  WALTER TAKES HIS FIRST LESSON IN RUNNING AN ENGINE.

  "I DON'T like the idea of Charley going in alone with that gang,"Captain Westfield said uneasily. "It's a bad crowd he's got along withhim, and they may make him trouble."

  "I don't think they will," said Walter, as the two stood watching thetruck out of sight. "They have all got their checks, and have got noreason for making trouble. I guess Charley can take care of himself.Did you see how fast he was driving the car--almost too fast? If thoseengineers are not just plain fools, they will not touch him, for, ifhe let go that steering wheel for a second or two, the car would turnturtle into the ditch and all hands be killed or hurt."

  "Well," said the Captain, with relief, "if that's the case, I'll quitworrying and get out those Saws to get down the tents that are empty."

  "And I'll go back to the machine," Walter said. "I want to learn allabout it as soon as I can. McCarty seems to be a mighty fine fellow,and he is going to show me how to run it."

  McCarty was waiting for him at the machine. "Now the first lesson isgoing to be a dirty one," he said. "We will have to crawl under thecar, so you can see how each part works."

  Shedding their coats, the two wriggled under on the wet ground and,lying on their backs, McCarty pointed out the various cog-wheels thatworked the car and the swinging table.

  "Gosh!" exclaimed McCarty suddenly. "Look at that!"

  Startled, Walter looked to where the other was pointing. In one of thedeep, sharp niches, into which the long teeth of the ratching descendedwhen the platform was in motion, was wedged a round, yellow stick, ofsome eight inches in length.

  McCarty pulled out the strange object and looked at it musingly. Hebroke off a bit of it, and, crumbling it up in his hand, examined itclosely. "That stuff must have been put in there just before I went onduty night before last," he said. "Gosh! It's lucky the nigger struckon me before I started up the machine."

  "Why?" Walter asked. "What is that stuff, anyway?"

  McCarty threw him the stick. "Catch it," he said; "that's dynamite ofthe strongest grade."

  Walter held the stick gingerly, as though he was afraid it might go offat any minute.

  "Don't be afraid of it," laughed McCarty. "It doesn't go off so veryeasy. It needs a sudden, hard jar, or a cap and fuse, to explode it. IfI had swung that thirty-ton platform around on top of that stuff themachine would likely have been pretty badly smashed up, and maybe someof us killed."

  "Who could have put it there?" Walter asked.

  "Hard to say. Someone who wanted to put the machine out of business,of course. To be frank, however, it all points to Rooney, who had theshift before mine. He blew the whistle for me when his shift was up,and I left from the camp at once. We passed each other about halfway,so no one else would have had much chance to put anything in there,between his departure from the machine and my arrival. However, ithas done no harm, so there's no use worrying about it now, but we hadbetter look good, and see if there's any more of it scattered around."

  A close search, however, failed to reveal any more of the dangerousexplosive, so the two boys crawled out from under the car and mountedthe swinging steel platform, where McCarty showed the other which partof the cog-wheels they had seen below each lever controlled. Therewas a lever to move the car back and forth on its tracks like a steamengine, a lever to put on brakes, one to control the two-ton steelbucket, and another to raise and lower the long steel crane.

  "Best way for you to learn to run it is to come on as fireman," headvised. "It's a hot, dirty job, and long hours, but you've got tolearn the steam part first before you can become a good runner. You'vegot to know enough about a steam engine to tell if your fireman isdoing his part right--to know whether he is carrying too much or toolittle steam, and whether he keeps water enough in the boiler all thetime. A careless fireman can easily blow up a boiler and wreck hisengine, so it pays to keep an eye on your fireman."

  "All right. I'll come on as a fireman," agreed Walter, cheerfully.

  "That's right," approved McCarty. "It's the only proper way to learn.Here's another thing to think of: Suppose you went on to that machineto-morrow as a runner. You know now how it works, all about the levers,etc. But, take one example. The first thing you may have to do is tomove back on another section of track. A section of track is onlyfifteen feet long, and the part of the car that rests on it coverstwelve of the fifteen feet. The section next is butted up againstthe one the car is on, but is not fastened to it. Across the ends ofthe two sections the ground men place two six-foot pieces of ironrail, to catch the center wheels of the car. Now, everything is readyfor moving, and the ground men signal, 'Go ahead.' You start ahead.Suddenly the ground men, who are watching cry, 'Hold, hold.' When youhave heard that cry you know the car is not hitting that second sectionright. You have to stop that machine, and stop it, not in a second,but in a fraction of a second, or your machine will be off the trackand buried in the sand; or, perhaps, even skidded into the ditch, andlikely lost to you forever. Do you suppose a green man, with all thatarray of levers before him, could act quick enough to save his machineand crew? Why, running a steam locomotive is easy compared to runningone of these things. Well, I guess we have gone over everything, and wemight as well go back to camp. In the morning we will come out and fireup and take a few lessons in actual practice in firing and handlingsome of the simpler levers."

  "Good!" Walter exclaimed. "Say, what's that haze off there in the west?Isn't it smoke?"

  "Indian fires," said McCarty. "They burn off parts of the prairiesevery six months so as to get fresh pasture for their stock.Appearances are deceptive out here. The air is so clear that one cansee objects very far distant. Now, how far off would you say that fireis?"

  "About ten miles off," Walter guessed.

  "It's more than twice that far," declared the other. "It's a queercountry we will be entering soon, and I'm thinking we'll see some queerthings before we get through this job. But, here we are at the camp.My, that supper smells good."

  They found the Captain driving the negroes at their task with all theauthority an old shipmaster can display.

  "Gee," exclaimed McCarty, "I never saw those niggers work like thatbefore. Why, they've got all the empty tents down and one of themwashed up. I wonder how he did it."

  "Oh, the Captain can handle men, all right," said Walter proudly. "Thathas been his business all his life, handling tough crews of sailors."

  The old skipper knocked off his men for the night and joined the twolads. "Well, I've got a good start for to-morrow," he said, withsatisfaction. "We'll have everything finished up by to-morrow night.Say, those Saws ain't half-bad workers when you handle them right."

  "Negroes are no good out on this kind of work. A nigger wants to be inor near a town," McCarty declared positively. "He wants to be where hecan get out nights and 'rambles,' as he calls it. He don't like to staylong on a job, anyway. If he's not paid every Saturday night, he quits.If he is paid, he's pretty likely to quit, too, for he will have $8 or$9 in his pocket, and, as long as he has a dollar he does not believein work. I remember hearing once this dialogue between a white man anda nigger:

  "White Man--'Say, boy, do you want to earn a quarter?'

  "Negro--'No, sah, boss; I'se dun got a quarter.'"

  Chris beating on a tin pan drew them all to the cook tent, where agood supper awaited them. The sun went out of sight while they wereeating, and darkness followed immediately, as there is no twilight inFlorida. Lanterns were lit, and, while the Captain and Walter lent theoverworked little negro a hand in cleaning up, McCarty, who had movedhis tent close to the Captain's, built up a big fire in front of thetents, and hunted up a few boxes for seats. Here the Captain and Waltersoon joined him, while Chris wandered over to visit with his countrymen.

  "I always like to sit by a camp fire evenings, when I am out on ajob like this." McCarty said. "It seems to take away some of theloneliness, and makes things seem more cheerful. Just listen fo
r aminute to the din, will you?"

  There was no need to listen--the din could not be ignored. The croakingof millions of frogs, the honk of sand-hill cranes, and the screechingof innumerable owls rose up from the darkness about them.

  "Sounds like they were all saying their prayers at once and gettingready to go to sleep," said Walter, with a laugh.

  "And that's just what they are doing," said McCarty. "Step outside ofthe circle of firelight with me, and take a look around."

  The three stepped out a few paces from the fire and gazed about them.It was pitch dark, but all around them glowed millions of tiny lights,flittering here and there.

  "Just fireflies," explained McCarty. "But watch. See that thin whitemist rising from the ground?" As they watched, the white vapor rosehigher, grew denser, and shrouded the land with a ghost-like shroud.The fireflies disappeared, the frogs ceased croaking, the owls' hootingdied away, and all was still.

  "Night has drawn its sheet over them, and they have gone to sleep,"said McCarty whimsically.

  "Hark!" exclaimed Walter. "What's that?"

  "Hanged if I know," said McCarty, puzzled. "It's coming closer all thetime, whatever it is."