“Of what?”
“Rattlers, or other snakes that may abound on this island.”
“Yet you’re not afraid for yourself.”
“I think I can protect myself.”
“Then why not protect me? Oh, I do want to go ashore.”
Worried, Halstead stepped back into the boat and picked up the stout tiller stick that was meant to be thrust into the rudder post in case the wheel-gear became disabled.
“Keep right behind me, then, please,” begged the young skipper, holding the tiller stick in readiness for any reptilian foe he might espy.
The tree in question was some distance inland on the island, past a rise in the ground. Tom, eternally vigilant, piloted Miss Silsbee slowly along, scanning every inch of the ground near them. At last they reached the tree. After inspecting all the ground near by, Halstead climbed the tree, detaching and throwing down a quantity of the pretty moss, which the girl laughingly gathered in her arms. Then the young skipper descended.
“I wonder if my guardian intends to do his alligator hunting anywhere around here?” asked the girl.
“Oh, no; the alligators seldom venture into this lake,” Tom replied. “We have to go the length of the lake, I understand, and then penetrate for some distance into the Everglades. There are no alligators here.”