CHAPTER IX.
BOB IS SENT HOME.
IT was strange sounds coming out of the mists that had drawn the lads'attention. They were not kept long in suspense as to the nature ofthe noises, for it soon became plain that they were human voices, oneshrill and piercing, the other deep and guttural. Nearer they drew,until out of the white vapor loomed a huge, grotesque object, whichgradually resolved itself into a big covered wagon, drawn by four gauntoxen. In the front of the wagon sat an Indian woman, urging the wearybeasts on with whip and shrill cries. Behind the wagon walked a huge,powerful Indian, closely followed by a mass of pigs, cattle and goats,which were urged on from the rear by a pack of mongrel dogs, of allsizes and colors. With much squealing of pigs, barking of dogs, andcries from the squaw, this strange equipage came to a stop in front ofthe camp.
The two boys advanced to the road to meet the visitors.
"Hello," Walter greeted them.
"Hello," returned the Indian. "No can get by big machine?"
"No," said McCarty, "I'm afraid you can't. Machine right in road, deepditches both sides, plenty mud. Back one mile is a road that circlesaround the machine. You understand?"
The Indian nodded comprehension. "No can find road at night. Me camphere."
"All right," Walter assented. "When you get unhitched, come over tocamp fire and have something to eat."
The two boys rummaged around in the cook tent and got out a can ofsalmon, one of corned beef, and a box of crackers, which they carriedout to the camp fire. The Indian was there awaiting them. "She unhitchoxen," he explained.
Walter grinned. "Indian man no work?" he inquired.
"No work," agreed the Seminole.
"Your squaw?" asked the interested lad.
"No, sister," and a gleam of interest shone on the Indian's impassiveface. "You want squaw?" he demanded.
"No," said Walter hastily, while McCarty laughed.
"Sister strong, work good, cook good, too," recommended the Seminoleseriously.
"Why don't you get a squaw yourself?" McCarty demanded.
"Sister got tongue sharp as knife point," admitted the Indian sadly."She and squaw would fight and fight and fight with their tongues, andthere would be no peace in the camp for its master."
Her task performed, the Indian girl now approached the fire. She waspretty for an Indian. Like all Seminole girls, she wore a waist ofbright colors, a skirt of calico of many hues, and beaded moccasins onher feet. She was frankly unembarrassed and smiled around at her hostsin evident friendliness.
Walter opened the cans and handed them and the crackers to the girl."No meal cooked in big tent," he explained. "To-morrow morning haveplenty hot grub."
The two ate silently and hungrily, and as soon as they had finisheddeparted for their wagon with a brief "Good-by."
"They never even said thanks," McCarty commented.
"An Indian never expresses his gratitude in words," Walter explained,"but they never forget a favor done them. If we ever happen near thatfellow's camp, he will bring in some present, such as venison or pork.Well, it is time we were turning in. The Captain has been asleep forhours."
Chris awoke all hands next morning at daylight by beating on a tin pan.He had breakfast all ready by the time they were washed and dressed.The Seminoles had already hitched up their oxen, and, seated by thecook tent, were patiently waiting for the promised meal.
The boys invited them to seats at their own table, and were surprisedto note that they seemed perfectly at ease, handling knife and fork.
The meal was quickly dispatched, and the Indians, with a brief"good-by," departed to pick up the road they had passed in the night,and the boys hastened out to the machine, while the Captain, with hisnegro helpers, resumed the work of cleaning up the camp.
Walter quickly picked up the knack of firing, and, after he hadmastered its principles, McCarty, standing by his side, permittedhim to handle the two levers that controlled the great steel bucket.Simple as it looked to be when he watched McCarty do it, Walter soonfound that it required both quickness and coolness to handle only thesetwo levers out of the many before him. He repeated the operation ofraising, lowering, digging, and dumping several hundred times, gainingmore quickness, sureness, and certainty with each operation.
"You're going to learn quickly," McCarty said. "I am sorry, but we cando no more to-day. If you'll look back at your water gauge you'll seethat there are only a few inches of water left in your boiler. Fillingit is too big a job for us to tackle alone, so you might as well rakeout your fire, and we will go back to camp."
"I say," he continued, as Walter threw open the furnace door and rakedout the blazing billets of wood with an iron rake, "it's only nineo'clock. What do you say if we go off on a little hunt for the balanceof the day? It's likely to be the last chance we will have in manymonths."
"I'll go you," Walter agreed. "That is, provided the Captain does notneed any help."
They found the Captain with his task nearly completed. "No, you can'thelp me any," he said. "The niggers will have everything done by noon.Go on and have your fun, lads, but be careful, and be sure to get backby dark."
The boys sought their tents, and got out their guns and game bags. Bythe time they were ready Chris had a lunch wrapped up for them, andthey struck out into the open woods, with Bob, the dog, gamboling infront of them.
"Why, you have brought your rifle along with you," Walter exclaimed,noting his comrade's gun.
"Yes; one shotgun is enough," said his friend; "and I am in hopes thatwe may run on to some big game. I've seen plenty of signs of deerlately."
"I'll be contented if I can get a good bag of quail."
"Oh, you'll get them, all right," said McCarty confidently. "The woodsare full of them, and Bob is as good a bird dog as there is in theState of Florida. Look, he is at it already."
As if to justify the compliment paid him, Bob had stopped in frontof a little oak thicket, and stood with head thrust forward and tailsticking straight out. He waited patiently in this attitude for thelads to approach.
"Get your gun ready, and I'll scare them up for you," McCarty said."If you are not used to shooting on the wing just aim at the flock andblaze away when they rise."
He picked up a heavy stick and threw it into the thicket. With awhirling of wings a big covey of quail rose up from its center.
Walter fired one barrel after the other into the middle of the flock.
"Good!" exclaimed McCarty. "You got a dozen at least. Watch where thebalance light. Here, Bob, fetch 'em out."
The dog rushed forward, but stopped at the edge of the thicket.
"Fetch 'em out, Bob; fetch 'em out," encouraged the lad, but the dogturned back with drooping tail.
"There's something wrong in there," declared McCarty; "something thedog is afraid of."
"Well, I'm going in and get my quail," Walter said. "I'm not going tobe cheated out of the first quail I ever killed."
"Hold on," said McCarty, "there's no telling what you may run upagainst. The thicket isn't over fifty feet across. Let's set fire toboth sides of it, and one of us stand by each end. We ought to be ableto kill whatever it is as it comes out."
"Good," Walter agreed. "I'll take my stand by this end, and you cantake yours by the other."
In a few minutes the thicket was ablaze on both sides, while the twolads, with guns cocked, stood eagerly waiting the appearance of itsoccupant.
The thicket was all of small growth, and in a few minutes the firehad swept it clear to the ground, leaving only here and there a fewsmouldering stalks of thicket growth. The dead quail lay scatteredaround on the ground, unhurt except for a slight singing of feathers.
"I guess Bob got a wrong hunch that time," Walter said, as he picked uphis quail, of which there were thirteen.
"I'll bet on Bob every time," said McCarty. "There was something inhere that he was afraid to tackle, and I'll bet if we look around longenough we'll find some trace of it."
"Look out!" said Walter.
"There it is, right in front of you."
The Boy Chums in the Florida Jungle Page 9