Boy Chums in the Forest; Or, Hunting for Plume Birds in the Florida Everglades
Page 29
CHAPTER XXIX.
THE ENEMY.
Walter broke into a weak, hysterical laugh, "and I took that for aspirit," he exclaimed. "Well, our mystery is solved now."
"Yes," his chum admitted, looking down at the dead bell-ringer with akind of regret, "still there are some points about it which stillremain a mystery, and always will. There is no record of there everbeing monkeys found in this state. It must have been brought here byone of the Spanish gentlemen as a pet and taught the trick of ringingthe bell, and yet, that theory is unbelieveable. Consider, Walter, ifsuch is the case, this creature has reached an incredible age."
Walter bent down and flashed the torch in the monkey's face. "He looksas though he had lived for centuries," he exclaimed, "his face is likethat of a shriveled mummy, and see, that look of cunning andaged-wisdom in his features. Charley," continued the tender-heartedboy with a break in his voice, "I feel as badly about it as I would ifI had shot a man. Think of the poor, harmless creature, remaining trueyear after year to the one task he knew how to perform, and then to beshot down at last while doing it."
"Nonsense, this is no time for sentiment. We must get back to ourpost, we have left it altogether too long. You will have to help meback, I guess, Walt," Charley said.
"How did you get here?" demanded his chum, the current of his thoughtssuddenly changed. "Why, your trousers' leg is wet with blood and youare as pale as a ghost."
"I couldn't have walked a hundred feet under ordinary circumstances,but that scream brought me here on the run. Now that the excitement isover I feel weak as a kitten," Charley answered.
"You're going back to bed and stay there until that wound is completelyhealed," declared Walter as he put his arm around his chum and assistedhim out of the chapel.
Before he could get the exhausted lad to the hut, he had become a deadweight in Walter's arms. Walter let him down gently upon the groundand ran to the hut where he aroused Chris and the captain, and thethree bore Charley inside and laid him on his couch.
Captain Westfield bathed the wound and bandaged it afresh. His facewas very grave as he examined the unconscious lad's skin and pulse."He has a high fever," he declared anxiously. "I thought yesterdayfrom the way he was yawning and stretching that he was in for an attackof swamp fever. With a dose of it on top of this hole in his leg it islikely to go hard with the poor lad. I'd give a sight now for somebrandy and quinine." He glanced up at Walter's haggard face. "You getto bed this minute or we will have two on our hands," he commanded."Chris and I have had a good nap and we'll keep watch the balance ofthe night, though, I 'low, there ain't much use in doing it."
Walter was too near collapse, himself, to offer objections and droppingdown on his couch was soon sleeping the sleep of exhaustion. He wokeagain just as the sun arose feeling rested and quite his old vigorousself, but his spirits soon fell as his chum's meanings fell upon hisears.
Charley was tossing restfully upon his couch in a high fever and thewounded leg was greatly swollen and flushed an angry red.
There was nothing he could do to relieve the sufferer, so Walter with aheavy heart stole out of the hut.
The captain and Chris were busy over the fire preparing breakfast.They greeted Walter with grave faces for Charley's condition wasresting heavily upon them.
"If I only had some quinine I could check that fever," sighed the oldsailor. "He is healthy and clean-blooded and I reckon he'd get overthat bad leg in time, but he can't fight them both. How in the worlddid he come to start the wound to bleeding again?"
Sadly Walter recounted the adventures of the night. He told of theirprevious discovery of the bell, their first fruitless search of thechapel, and of his venturing in alone and the shooting of thebell-ringer.
As he proceeded with his narrative the captain's face grew crimson withmortification and chagrin, as he saw his much-asserted ghostly theoriesshattered.
The effect on Chris' humorous nature was different. The firstexpression of relief on his little ebony face was succeeded by a broadgrin.
"Golly," he giggled, "an' me an' Massa Capt was scart nigh to death bya poor ole harmless monkey."
Few men like to be placed in a ridiculous position and the captainturned on the little darky in a rage.
"Shut up, you grinning little imp," he shouted, "or I'll thrash you soyou can't sit down for a week. What call have you got to be gigglingover the death of one of your ancestors?"
Chris checked the flow of words on his tongue, but sat rocking back andforth in glee muttering, "Golly, only a monkey. A poor, old,he-monkey," until the irate captain chased him out of ear-shot.
Leaving the captain and Chris to the settlement of their trouble,Walter took one of the canoes' paddles and proceeded to the chapel.Just outside its wall he dug a deep grave, and carrying the faithfulold monkey to it he lowered him gently to the bottom and filling up thegrave again, heaped a little pile of stones on the mound.
To the tender-hearted lad there was something pathetic and touching inthe way the poor creature had met its death.
Charley's illness cast a gloom over even the irrepressible Chris, andbreakfast was eaten in sad silence.
As soon as he had finished, Chris shouldered one of the rifles andheaded for the landing to watch for the outlaws, while the captain andWalter repaired to the hut to attend to the stricken lad.
There was little they could do to relieve his sufferings beyondsponging his hot body with a wet cloth and giving him sparingly of thewater that he called for incessantly. At last he sank into a kind of astupor and the heavy-hearted watchers stole outside for a breath offresh air.
Walter at last broke the silence that hung like a cloud upon them."I've been thinking," he said, "that it might not be a bad plan to meetthe outlaws at the landing. We could dispose of several before theycould get on shore."
"No," said his companion decidedly, "they would only land in some otherplace and maybe cut us off from the hut. You mark my words, lad,Charley thought over every side of this question before he laid hisplans an' we can't do better than follow them. The most we can hope todo is to hold this hut until Little Tiger comes with his people."
Their further discussion was cut short by the sudden appearance ofChris.
"Dey's comin', Massa, dey's comin'," shouted the excited little darky."Dey ain't more dan a half mile away."
Gathering together the cooking utensils scattered around the fire, thethree entered the hut and soon had the last post secured in its hole,effectually barring the doorway.
Through the cracks in the windows and door, the hunters watched for theappearance of the foe.
An hour of suspense passed slowly by, then suddenly there came thenoise of a falling stone and an evil face peeped cautiously over thewall.
Walter fired quickly but missed, and the face disappeared withludicrous haste.
For some minutes the outlaws remained quiet, no doubt conferringtogether, then a tiny square of white was hoisted above the wall, to bequickly followed by the youngest outlaw who dropped coolly down intothe inclosure bearing the flag in his hand.
"We can't fire upon him," declared Walter as Chris raised his gun. "Hebears a truce flag and is unarmed. You keep a sharp watch on theothers and I will talk with this fellow. If I am not mistaken, it isthe one Charley was so impressed by."
The young outlaw approached the hut at a careless sauntering walk,waving the flag jauntily in his hand. He noted the barred openings andprotruding rifle barrel with a cool smile and strolled around to thedoor.
"Hallo in there," he called, cheerfully. "I want to talk to you."
"Go ahead," Walter answered grimly, "we're listening."
"Come now, that's no way to receive a visitor," said the young fellow,lightly. "I want to talk with that bright-eyed chap I talked withbefore."
"You can't," Walter said, sadly. "He's dying of fever."
"Why don't you cure him up?" demanded the envoy, sharply, "the swampfever is nothing if it's treated right."<
br />
"We haven't a grain of medicine," Walter replied. "But state yourerrand," he added sharply.
"Look here," said the young outlaw after a short pause. "I talkedthose fellows into this conference idea so as to get a good chance tospeak with you fellows. I am sick of that gang. I am not as bad asthey, and I am clean disgusted with them. I want to join forces withyou fellows. I know they are bound to finish you sooner or later, butI would rather die with gentlemen than to live with murderers."
"We cannot afford to take any chances," Walter said decidedly.
"But you are taking chances, chances on the life of your friend," saidthe outlaw sharply. "I can cure him, I tell you. I studied medicineand I have a few things in my bag."
"Can we risk it?" said Walter, wavering, and turning to the captain foradvice.
"We can risk anything for Charley's sake," said the old sailor,eagerly. "We can shoot him at the first sign of treachery. Let himin, Walt."
"I have got to go back for my things," interrupted the outlaw, whosekeen ears had caught the low conversation. "I'll be back again in aminute. I'll fix up some excuse to return. I guess pretending thatyou are considering surrendering will do as well as anything else."
Walter gazed after the young fellow's retreating form with reluctantadmiration. "He moves like a trained athlete and he hasn't got a badface," he admitted. "I pray he does not prove to be our undoing."
"We must take the chance, lad," said the captain. "Better remove thepost so he can get inside quick."
In a few minutes the outlaw strolled carelessly back towards the hut.A yell of rage went up from the convicts behind the wall as he dartedthrough the opening into the building.
Walter quickly replaced the post and turned to watch the newcomer.
Without a word, he had marched over to where Charley lay and knelt byhis side with his finger on the lad's pulse and his keen eyes searchinghis face.
After a moment's examination he turned to face the others. "Yourfriend is nearly dead," he said quietly.