“Get into the boat,” ordered Tom, sternly. “I’ll help you as soon as it’s necessary.”
When Sim got near enough to the gunwale to see the others so neatly stacked away he flew into a rage.
“Ef I done know yo’ had the others like that,” he stormed, “I’d have seen yo’ further afo’ I——”
“Get into the boat,” interrupted Halstead, pressing the muzzle of the hunting rifle against Sim’s back. “Now, over you go, with my help.”
Sim was talking in a picturesque way by this time, but Halstead, ignoring him, stacked him away with his comrades in the bow of the boat. Then, still gripping the rifle, the motor boat boy stepped aft, and started the motor. As soon an this was running smoothly, Halstead raised his voice, calling:
“I don’t doubt that you fellows will soon feel tempted to squirm about and try to free yourselves. You don’t know me, and might not believe me, so, if I see any signs of trouble, I’ll have to let this rifle do my talking. If you doubt me, then try it on!”
Sim was the only one who could speak; he was too disgusted and wrathful to feel like saying a word.
Captain Tom swung on slow speed, guiding the boat by the rudder line that passed aft from the steering wheel.
Not knowing the waters here in the Everglades, and their almost inky blackness, under the shadows of the trees, concealing the depths, he was forced to go slowly.