“And I determined to investigate Dixon’s story for myself, and went right out into the forest—right out into the very trap set for me!” muttered the young motor boat skipper, trembling with rage and disgust. “Oh, what an impulsive, hot-headed fool I was! How Oliver Dixon will shake with inward laughter at finding me just the idiot he expected me to be!”
So utterly angry was he with himself that Halstead did himself injustice. It is doubtful if Dixon was clever enough to have planned it all just as it had happened. It had been a chance—a lucky one for Dixon—that had placed Tom Halstead in this terrible situation.
As the boat swept along under increased speed the four men regaled themselves on food that they drew from their various pockets. Halstead felt a ravenous gnawing under his belt, but none of his captors offered him anything to eat.
“There ain’t grub enough to throw any of it away, younker,” observed the leader, as he swept the last crumbs into his own mouth. “But I reckon maybe yo’ would like some use or yo’ mouth. Jabe, take that packing out from between the younker’s teeth.”
This service the negro performed, rather roughly, it is true. But at last Tom Halstead could take a really deep breath; he could talk, if he so desired; but he was in no mood to do that.
The young skipper knew that the boat was now traveling rapidly, though he could not see above the gunwale of the craft. From the actions of these Everglades ruffians, however, the boy knew that they did not sight any other boats. Thus the forenoon wore along until, at last, the leader, whom the others addressed as “Sim,” remarked:
“Jabe, yo’ may as well let the younker set up on a seat, now. He-un won’t try to jump ovahbo’d. If he-un does, so much the easier fo’ us.”
“Let him have his hands?” inquired the bulky negro.
“Yep; might jest as well.”
So the bonds were removed from the young skipper’s wrists. He accepted this favor in sullen silence, then raised himself to one of the seats.