“I gave two thousand dollars for her. I bought her in New Orleans and brought her up the river myself. The folks around here don’t know much about gasoline launches, but I think she’s as nice a craft as anybody would wish.”
“How much water does she draw?”
“Only two and a half feet when loaded down—so you see we can get over some pretty shallow spots, if it is necessary.”
They were moving along a scantily-wooded stretch of shore when Tom let out a short cry:
“Stop!”
“What’s up, Tom?” asked several.
“I saw somebody just now—back of yonder bushes. He stepped out and then stepped back again.”
“Was it one of the men we are after?” asked Sam.
“I don’t know—he got out of sight before I had a good look at him.”
“We’ll have to investigate,” said Dick, and to this the others agreed. With all possible haste the launch was run to the shore and Sam, Tom, and Dick got out, followed by Harold Bird. The dog came also, limping along painfully.
“Find him, Dandy, find him!” said the young Southerner, in a low tone, and the dog seemed to understand. He put his nose to the ground, ran around for several minutes, and then started off through the bushes.
“Do you think he has struck the trail?” asked Tom.
“I am sure of it,” was Harold Bird’s positive reply.
The young Southerner called to the dog, and Dandy went forward more slowly, so that they could keep him in sight. They passed through one patch of bushes and then came to a clear space, beyond which was a field of wild sugarcane.
Hardly had the dog struck the cleared spot when from a distance came the report of a pistol. Dandy leaped up in the air, came down in a heap, and lay still.
“Somebody has shot the dog!” cried Sam. “What a shame!”
Harold Bird said nothing, but ran to where the canine lay. Dandy was breathing his last, and in a minute it was all over.
“Poor fellow!” murmured the young Southerner, and there were tears in his eyes. “First the bob cats and now a pistol bullet! Oh, if I can only catch the rascal who fired that shot I’ll make him suffer for this!”
“The fellow killed the dog, so the animal could not trail him,” said Dick. “It was certainly a dirty trick.”
“It shows that the man is a criminal,” put in Tom. “He would not be afraid of us if he was honest.”
“And therefore it must have been Gasper Pold or Solly Jackson,” said Sam.
“What will you do with the dog?” asked Dick, after an awkward pause.
“Take him back to the boat and bury him,” answered the young Southerner. “I don’t want the wild beasts to feed on him.”
“Hadn’t we better follow up that man first?”
“We can do so, if you wish.”
They passed on and looked around that vicinity with care. It must be confessed that they were afraid of being shot at, but nothing of the sort occurred. At one point they saw some footsteps, but these came to an end in a creek flowing into the lake.
As the ground in that vicinity was very treacherous there was nothing to do but to return to the launch and this they did, Harold Bird and Dick carrying the dead dog between them. All were sorry that the canine was dead, for they realized that the animal had done its best for them against the bob cats.
They had no spade, but with some flat sticks managed to scoop out a hole of respectable depth and in this they buried the canine. Over the spot the young Southerner placed a peculiar stick to mark the spot.
“He was a fine dog and was once the pet of my father,” he said. “Some day I may place a monument over his grave.”
They left the vicinity and continued on their trip around the lake, scanning every indentation of the shore for a possible glimpse of the Dora. There were many winding places, so it was noon before the task was half completed.
“This is growing to be a longer hunt than I anticipated,” remarked Fred. “I thought finding the houseboat would be dead easy.”
Lunch was had, and once again they went on the search, this time at a point where a bayou joined Lake Sico to a smaller lake. Here they had to move with care, for the bayou was filled with the hidden roots of trees long since thrown down by storms.
“Of ve ton’t look out ve peen caught in dem dree roots,” observed Hans, looking down into the water. “Say, ton’t da look like vater snakes?”
“They certainly do, and they are almost as dangerous—for the launch.”
Soon came a grinding tinder the boat and the screw came to a standstill. A tree root had caught fast, and further progress was out of the question until the screw could be cleared.
“I’ll go over and do the job!” cried Tom. “I know how.” And the others being willing he divested himself of most of his clothing, leaped overboard, and was soon at work. It was no light task, as he had to cut the root in several places with a jackknife.
“We had better land and look around,” said Harold Bird. “I’d hate to get the screw caught again and break it, for then we’d certainly be in a pickle.”
“Could the houseboat get through here?” questioned Fred.
“Yes, they could pole her through, with hard work,” answered Dick.
They turned the gasoline launch to shore and tied fast. Then all began to leap out.
“This won’t do,” cried Dick. “Somebody ought to remain on the launch.”
“I would like to go with you and look for the houseboat,” answered Harold Bird. “I think the launch will be safe where she is.”
“If you want me to stay I’ll do it, if Songbird will stay with me,” said Fred.
“I’ll stay,” said Songbird, promptly.
So it was arranged, and leaving the two in charge of the gasoline launch, all the others of the party set off on their search for the missing houseboat.
Walking along the shore of the small lake was decidedly treacherous, and more than once one or another would slip down in the mud and slime.
“Hellup!” cried Hans, who had dragged behind, and looking back they saw the German lad in a bog hole up to his knees. “Hellup, oder I vos trowned alretty!”
“Can’t you crawl out?” questioned Dick, running back.
“No, der mud vos like glue!” gasped Hans.
Tom came back also, and between them they managed to pull Hans from the sticky ooze, which was plastered over his trousers and shoes. The German lad gazed at himself ruefully.
“Now, ain’t dot a nice mess?” he observed. “Vosn’t I a beach!”
“Yes, but a pretty muddy one,” laughed Dick. “But never mind now, come on. You can clean up when we get back.”
The party soon reached a spot where the bushes grew in water several inches deep. Here, to avoid sinking in the mud, they had to make a wide detour.
“Listen!” cried Sam, presently, and held up his hand.
“What did you hear?” asked Harold Bird.
“I heard something as if somebody was walking through the brush yonder!”
“Maybe it was the men we are after!” cried Dick. “Come on!”
They continued to move forward until some fallen trees all but barred their further progress. Then they came to a small rise of ground—a veritable island in this swamp,—and reaching the highest point, gazed around them.
“What is that?” asked Sam, pointing with his hand to a round, black object showing above some bushes at a distance.
“Why, that looks like the smokestack of the houseboat!” cried Tom. He meant the stack to the chimney, for several rooms of the houseboat were furnished with stoves, to be used when the weather was chilly.
“We’ll soon make certain,” said Dick. “Forward, everybody!”
“Be careful!” cautioned Harold Bird. “Remember, you have desperate characters
with whom to deal.”
“Isn’t everybody armed?” asked Sam. “I brought my pistol.”
All were armed, and each took out his weapon and carried it in his hand. They wanted no shooting, but, after the killing of the dog, decided to take no chances.
It was no light task to reach the spot where the smokestack had been seen. They had another creek to cross and then had to crawl through some extra-thick bushes. But beyond was a stretch of clear water, and there they saw, safely tied to two trees, the object of their search, the missing houseboat.
CHAPTER VIII
IN THE SWAMP
“There she is!”
“She seems to be all right!”
“Shall we go on board?”
Such were the cries from the Rovers and their friends as they came in sight of the Dora. The view of the houseboat filled them all with pleasure.
“Wait!” said Harold Bird. “Don’t show yourselves!”
Dick at least understood and held the others back.
“Keep out of sight—we want to investigate first,” he said, in a low tone. “There is no use in our running our heads into the lion’s mouth.”
“Mine cracious, vos der a lion aroundt here?” demanded Hans, turning pale.
“Maybe you’ll find a lion if you don’t keep quiet,” answered Sam, with a snicker.
After that but little was said. Gradually they drew so close that they could see from one end of the Dora to the other. Not a person was in sight.
“Really does look as if the craft was deserted,” was Harold Bird’s comment. “Perhaps they got scared when they saw what a crowd was following them.”
“I move two of us go on board and the rest stay here,” said Tom. “Then, if there is trouble, the crowd to stay behind can come to the rescue.”
“That’s a good scheme,” answered his elder brother. “Supposing Sam and I go? You can lead the rescuing party, if it becomes necessary.”
This was also agreed to, and a minute later Dick and Sam, with their pistols in hand, crawled from the bushes and made for the side of the houseboat. A gangplank was out and they saw the footprints of several men and also two horses.
“I don’t like those much,” said Dick, pointing to the hoofprints. “A horse here means that he was used for carrying some stuff away.”
As nobody came to stop them, they walked on board of the Dora and looked into the gallery, that being the nearest apartment. The cook stove was still there, just as Aleck Pop had left it, but the pots and kettles were scattered in all directions and some of the best of the utensils were missing.
“This looks as if the houseboat had been looted!” cried Dick, and ran from the galley to the dining room and then to the living room, while Sam made his way to several of the staterooms.
Nobody but themselves was on board the houseboat and they soon announced that fact to the others in the bushes, and they came forward on a run.
“Did they steal anything?” demanded Tom.
“Steal anything?” repeated Sam. “They have taken about everything they could lay their hands on!”
“Everything is gone but the stove, piano, and bedding,” said Dick. “And just to show their meanness they hacked the top of the piano with a hatchet!”
What Dick said was almost wholly true. The rascals had stolen everything of value that they could possibly carry, leaving behind little outside of the things already mentioned. Not only was the piano mutilated, but also the chairs, the dining-room table, and the berths in the stateroom. All of the lanterns but one were missing, and the small rowboat resting on the rear deck of the houseboat had its side stove in from an ax-blow.
“The fiends!” muttered Dick, as he gazed at the wreckage. “What they couldn’t carry they tried to ruin!”
“What could you expect from fellows who would shoot my pet dog?” returned Harold Bird.
“I tell you, Dick Rover, those men ought to be landed in jail!”
“Well, we’ll land them there!” cried Dick, earnestly.
“Do you mean that?”
“I certainly do.”
“I will aid you all I can,” answered the young Southerner heartily.
After that all made a thorough examination of the houseboat, to learn if they could find out anything concerning the thieves. Muddy footprints were visible in every apartment, but they told little.
“I think we are simply wasting time here,” said Tom, presently. “The best we can do is to follow up those footprints outside and see where they lead to.”
“Dot’s so,” said Hans. “Dis muss is so bad like it vill pe Lund vill get no petter py looking at him, ain’t dot so?”
“All right, come on,” said Sam, and led the way off the houseboat. “I don’t believe those chaps intend to come back. They took all they wanted.”
To follow the footprints was no easy task, and before long, they found themselves going through a swamp where the walking was extremely treacherous.
“I don’t like this,” said Sam. “They may have known the way, but we don’t; and if we don’t look out we’ll get in so deep we’ll be helpless.”
“Yah, let us go back,” said Hans, who had not forgotten his experience in the bog hole. “A feller can’t schwim in vater mit mud up to his neck alretty!”
Again they had to turn back. As they did this Dick fancied he heard a faraway cry for help.
“Did you hear that?” he asked of Tom. “What?”
“I heard somebody call, I think.”
“So did I,” put in Harold Bird. “Listen!”
They listened, but the cry, or whatever it was, was not repeated. Soon they were back to the side of the houseboat once more.
“Do you think that call came from Fred or Songbird?” asked Sam.
“It might be, Sam,” answered Dick. “Maybe we had better get back to the launch.”
“Yes, yes, let us go back by all means!” exclaimed Harold Bird. “If your friends are in trouble we ought to aid them.”
As rapidly as they could do so, they started back for the spot where the gasoline launch had been left. Once they lost their way, and got into a swamp from which it was next to impossible to get out.
“We’ll have to go back!” cried Sam, after he had moved in several directions, only to find himself worse off than before.
“Be careful,” warned Harold Bird. “If you aren’t careful—Stop!”
All of the boys halted, for the command was out of the ordinary. The young Southerner was looking straight ahead of him.
“What is it?” questioned Tom, in a low tone, thinking some of the enemy might be near.
“Am I right, and is that a snake ahead?” asked Harold Bird. “It looks like a snake and still it may be nothing but the dead limb of a tree.”
“Say, I ton’t vonts me no snakes in mine!” ejaculated Hans, trying to retreat.
All the boys gazed at the object ahead with interest. Then Tom broke off a stick near him and threw it at the object. The latter did not budge.
“Must be a tree limb,” said Tom. “But it looked enough like a snake to frighten anybody.”
“I am not sure yet,” answered Harold Bird. “You must remember that some of our southern snakes are very sluggish and only move when they are hungry or harassed.”
“We’ll give the limb, or whatever it is, a wide berth,” said Sam.
They started to move to one side. But Tom was curious, and chancing to see a stone among some bushes, hurled it at the object, hitting it directly in the center.
Up came an ugly-looking head, the object whipped around swiftly, and the next instant the boys found themselves confronted by a swamp snake all of six feet long and as thick as a man’s wrist!
“Mine cracious!” burst from Hans’ lips. “It vos a snake annahow! Look out! he vill eat us up alife!”
/> “We must get out of here!” cried Sam. “Oh, Tom, why didn’t you leave it alone?”
“I didn’t really think it was a snake,” answered the fun-loving Rover. “Somebody shoot it!”
Queer as it was, nobody had thought to use his pistol, but as Tom spoke Dick pointed his weapon at the snake, that was crawling rapidly over the tree roots towards them. The puff of smoke was followed by a writhing of the reptile, and they saw that it had been hit although not fatally wounded.
“Wait, I’ll give him another shot!” cried Sam, who now had his pistol out, and as the head of the snake came up over a tree root, the youngest Rover fired point-blank. His aim was true, and the head of the snake went down, and the body whirled this way and that in its death agonies.
“Is he—he dead?” faltered Tom.
“Next door to it,” answered Harold Bird. “That last shot took him directly in the throat. I do not think he will bother us any more.”
They saw the body of the snake sink down in the water beneath the upper roots of the tree, and then continued to retreat, making their way to what looked like safer ground. They were now completely turned around, with only the sun to guide them in their course.
“This is no joke,” said Dick, gazing around in perplexity. “If we are not careful we’ll become hopelessly lost.”
“I think somebody had better climb a tree and look around,” said Tom. “I’ll go up if somebody will boost me.”
The others were willing, and soon the fun-loving youth was climbing a tall tree which stood somewhat apart from the others. He went up in rapid fashion and before long was close to the top.
“Can you see anything?” called up Sam, after what seemed to be a long pause.
“Hello!” cried Tom. “Why, there is the small lake and, yes, the launch is moving from the shore.”
“The launch?” ejaculated Harold Bird. “Do you mean my gasoline launch?”
“It must be yours—or some craft very much like it,” answered Tom. “There, it is out of sight now behind the trees.”
Tom waited for fully a minute, but the launch did not reappear.
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