"Get up there and take that wheel!" roared Higgins. "Steer her right and true to the end of the strip and you won't get into any trouble. Try to ground her or any tricks, and you won't have to go 'up there' to catch hell."
"Hold on, Hig." Payne had sensed the desperation rising in the four men and he was averse to violence if it could be avoided. He was new in that country and he expected to settle there and develop his land. For a long time to come, until the contemplated railroad line came down from the north to his property, he knew the Chokohatchee River must be his means of communication with the outer world. The four men on the boat were natives of the section. He had not yet been able to fathom just what nature of men they were or what their business was, but he suspected the latter to be something illegal, and despite the poor showing they had made in the fight on the boat it was apparent that there was in them at least a tinge of the desperado. The swamps of Southern Florida, he knew, were favorite hiding places for scores of bad men. These men probably spent a good deal of time on the river which he must use, and therefore he had no wish to make them his deadly enemies.
"Don't take that wheel, cap!" said one of the men suddenly. "And keep your trap closed."
The scarred man turned and stared sullenly into the barrel of Higgins' revolver.
"Go ahead and shoot. That's the only way I'll go up there."
"Don't want to go alive, eh?"
"Ain't—allowed—to go—at all."
"Hold on, Hig," repeated Roger. "Don't be unreasonable."
"Unreasonable, hell! We're on our way, aren't we? Going to let 'em stop us?"
"We've got no quarrel with these men. We'll use a little reason."