CHAPTER XVIII
A SCOUNDREL’S TRICK
“What’s the chance of catching some fish?” inquired Bobby. “There’snothing better than fresh caught fish grilled over a wood fire.”
“There are plenty of fish if you have the luck to catch them,” said Lee.“They generally eat the bait off my hook, and then go away laughing atme.”
“Huh, I never saw a fish laugh, myself,” said Fred; “it must be veryinteresting.”
“Oh, it is,” Lee gravely assured him. “We’ll just land at a good place Iknow of, and maybe you can have a demonstration.”
They chugged on a little further, and then Lee gave the wheel a twistand headed for a high green bank that rose above the general level ofthe flat swamp country. When about two hundred feet away he shut off themotor, and the boat glided gently on with its momentum and groundedeasily on the muddy bank.
“Here we are,” said the Southern youth. “Get out your fishing lines, andwe’ll see what we can do.”
It did not take the boys long to rig up their tackle, and then Leejumped ashore, followed by Bobby and Fred. Together they pulled the bowof the boat up onto the bank, and then cast their bait.
“Now to hear the laughing fish,” said Fred. “Do they laugh very loud,Lee?”
“Not as loud as some poor fish that I know of,” retorted Lee.
“Wow!” exclaimed Bobby, laughing. “That had all the earmarks of a dig,Lee.”
Fred opened his mouth to make a cutting remark, but at that moment hisreel whizzed, and for the next five minutes he was too busy to say aword. The fish fought gamely, and the frail rod at times bent almostdouble and threatened to snap. But at last Fred landed the gleaming fishon the grass.
“Good work!” applauded Lee. “After that I take back my unkind words,Fred.”
“That’s all right,” said Fred, “nothing could make me mad now. Isn’tthat fish a beauty? I’ll bet he weighs all of three pounds.”
“Wouldn’t be surprised,” assented Bobby. “Two or three more like that,and we can have a feast.”
But the required number failed to materialize, and after half an hour ofpatient angling, the boys decided to try their luck in a new location.Accordingly they moved some two or three hundred yards further upstream,and cast again. Here the fish were biting better, and in a little whileeven Lee had caught a fair sized fish, while Bobby and Fred each had twoto their credit. Content with this haul, they decided to go back to theboat and continue their journey. They strung the fish on a bit of line,and then made their way back to where they had left the craft.
But the motor boat was nowhere to be seen!
For a moment all three were too surprised to speak. Bobby was the firstto break the dazed silence.
“It looks as though we were up against it, fellows,” he said, soberly.“How do you suppose that boat got away, anyway?”
“It must be we didn’t pull it up far enough,” said Lee, “although Ididn’t think the current was strong enough here to float a chip away.But now it looks as though I made a bad mistake.”
“I don’t think there is any mistake about this,” said Bobby, who hadbeen doing some quick thinking. “That boat would never have floated awayunless somebody had helped it to. We had it drawn up too far for that.”
“But who in the world would there be here to set it adrift?” inquiredLee, in bewilderment.
As though in answer to his question, there was a sudden stir and rustlein a tall bunch of swamp grass in back of them, and as they whirledabout they saw a young negro boy leap from the grass and start runningas fast as his legs could carry him.
“After him, fellows!” yelled Bobby, and the three comrades took afterthe negro at top speed. The latter was fleet, but he was no match forBobby who soon outdistanced his companions and was close on the negro’sheels. The darkey, hearing the pursuit so close to him, suddenly turned,and Bobby thought for a second that he was going to show fight, butinstead he fell on his knees and started to beg for mercy.
“D—don’t hit me, white boy,” he stammered. “Ah was made to do it, ’deedAh was.”
“Do what?” asked Bobby. “I haven’t accused you of doing anything yet.”
“Nossuh, you hasn’t, and Ah wouldn’t have shoved off dat boat, neider,if mah boss hadn’t done tole me he’d skin me alive if Ah didn’t.”
“I know this coon,” said Lee, who with Fred came up panting at thisjuncture. “He works for Jim Boolus, and I reckon that explains how ourboat came to get adrift. How did you know we were here?” he continued,addressing the negro.
“Ah was rowin’ Marse Boolus down de ribber,” answered the darkey, “an’fust thing Ah knows he spies you-all’s boat wid its nose stuck up on demud bank. ‘Dat’s de Cartiers’ motor boat,’ he says to me, gettin’ allexcited. ‘Suppose young Cartier and dose fresh friends o’ his’n must bearoun’ somewhere!’”
“‘Yessuh,’ Ah says, and keeps right on rowin’. But we hadn’t gone nodistance ’tall when he tells me to quit.”
“‘Gimme dem oars, you fool nigger,’ he says, ‘Ah’ll row dis boat in, andAh wants you should step ashore an’ heave dat boat off de bank.’”
“Ah jes’ had to do like he says, ’cause Marse Boolus is a powerful meanman when he gits riled. But Ah hadn’t any more dan got ashore when hehears one of you white boys shoutin’ somethin’, an’ he thinks you’recomin’ back for your boat. Wid dat he starts pullin’ away like mad,leavin’ me up on de bank. Ah shoved off de boat, anyway, thinkin’ dathe’d come back an’ pick me up, but he jes’ kep’ right on goin’, and hereI is.”
“We ought to pitch you into the river and let you swim after him,” saidLee, angrily.
The frightened negro rolled his eyes. “Ah’s sorry, boss,” he whimpered,“but Marse Boolus would jest as soon land me wid an oar as not if Ahdidn’t do what he tole me to.”
“It’s no use bothering with him,” said Bobby. “The damage is done now,and we’ll have to try to get out of this mess some way.”
“I suppose Boolus is chuckling now to think how he’s got even with us,”said Fred, clenching his fists. “I wish now he’d fallen out of thatbuggy onto some nice hard rocks instead of into soft sand.”
“Well we’re in a pretty pickle, anyway,” said Lee, as the full extent ofthe calamity began to dawn on him. “We’re somewhere about the middle ofthe swamp, without any way to get out unless we swim, and no provisionsexcept a few fish.”
“Oh, it may not be quite as bad as that,” said Bobby. “How do you knowthere’s no way out except by the river? There’s probably some paththrough, if we can only find it.”
“Yes, but that’s a big if,” said Lee. “But I guess we might as well goback and get those fish and cook them. We’ll have to camp out to-night,anyway, and then see what we can do in the morning.”
As nobody could suggest anything better than this, they made their wayback to the river, taking the negro with them. “There’s no knowing whathe’ll be up to,” said Lee. “We’d better keep an eye on him.”
They cleaned and cooked the fish, and ate them in silence, each one busywith his own thoughts. The flat and dreary swamp spread out on all sidesof their camp, except that bounded by the river. As evening came on, acold white mist arose from the morass, causing them to shiver and throwmore wood on their fire. Fortunately there was a plentiful supply ofdriftwood along the shore, and they resolved to keep the fire going allnight, each one taking a turn at standing watch and putting fresh fuelon. As twilight deepened into night, strange noises arose on every side;the croaking of frogs, the weird calling of water fowl, and above allthe fierce hum of mosquitoes that came in clouds to add to thediscomfort of their situation.
“Where’s that darkey?” exclaimed Lee suddenly.
They had momentarily forgotten him, and now, when they looked around,there was no sign of him. He had disappeared into the surroundingblackness, and the boys knew that it would be hopeless to look for him.
“It’s just as well, anyway
,” said Fred. “He had a treacherous look inhis eyes, and I feel better now that he’s not around.”
“Yes, but the chances are he knew of a way out of this place,” said Lee,“and we might have made him show it to us. But he’s gone, and there’s nouse worrying about it, I suppose.”
“Well, if he can get out, we can, too,” said Bobby, hopefully. “We’llget a start as soon as it’s light enough to see, and maybe we’ll be homein time for lunch.”
Bobby Blake on a Plantation; Or, Lost in the Great Swamp Page 18