“Help him off with his wet clothes, Bill, while I get rid of mine,” Osceola suggested. “They’ll soon be dry in this sun.”
“That’s a good idea. While you two are drying, I think the best we can do is to have a meeting of the Ways and Means Committee. We’re still an awful longways from anywhere.”
Sam nodded his head vigorously. “You done said a mouf-ful, suh. I hope I ain’ no gloom—but we sure is in a bad fix. Dese heah Glades is a mighty bad place to git stranded in widout a boat. I don’t know but what dem fellers what come down in de airplane wasn’t de lucky ones!”
[CHAPTER XIII—OSCEOLA FINDS A WAY]
The young Seminole spread his dripping uniform on the grass to dry and dropped to his full length on the sward near Sam and Bill.
“We’ve got to build a boat of some kind,” he declared. “Otherwise there’ll be no leaving this island. Let’s see what we can scare up between us in the way of tools.”
“I got a big clasp knife what belonged to one of dem pilots,” volunteered Sam.
“And I’ve got the same chap’s automatic, and a knife I picked up in the kitchen,” added Osceola. “How about you, Bill?”
“Another automatic and a dry box of matches are the limit of my contributions,” returned that young man. “Not much of an assortment, eh? If we could get out to the plane we might be able to find an axe or something.”
Osceola shook his head. “I doubt it. The smoke has almost disappeared, which means that the amphibian or what’s left of her is sinking in the swamp. Anyway, without something to float on we can’t leave this island. The rock floor of the Everglades basin lies from six to twelve feet down in the muck and water. Even with a boat, traveling is no joke. That grass grows ten feet high in some places. You’ve seen what its saw-tooth edges have done to Sam. That’s nasty stuff to fool with—take it from me!”