CHAPTER XV.

INTO THE EVERGLADES.

When Norton returned to Key West, five days later, he found the boys still there, their number increased by a new arrival, who was none other than Mark Anderson, Captain Bowling’s nephew. Mark had “turned up” quite unexpectedly to visit his uncle, having come on a sailing vessel manned by the crew whom his father and the other surfmen of the Red Key Station had rescued from the _Mary Jane_. As Hugh expressed it, it was “a reunion of old friends,” and everyone had been surprised and glad to meet again.

As Mark had soon made friends with the scouts of the northern patrol, they invited him to join them on a brief trip through the Everglades. This he was only too glad to do, for he had never seen the southwestern part of the Glades, and he was an enthusiastic young explorer. He was frankly delighted at the prospect. Moreover, having been through other sections of that mysterious region, he was somewhat familiar with the methods which the Indians adopt in traveling. Much to Dave’s surprise, Mark showed considerable knowledge of Seminole customs and characteristics; in fact, he quite won Dave’s heart, though Dave would have been the last person in the world to give any outward signs of regard.

“That boy heap good,” was his only comment to Captain Vinton, after Mark and his new friends had spent an afternoon on board the _Arrow_, helping to stow away provisions in the cabin and to make everything ship-shape for the return cruise and the by-trip to the Everglades.

“How have you learned so much about the Indians, Mark?” inquired Alec, that same evening, when all had taken leave of their hospitable friends at Key West,—friends of Mr. Sands,—and had gone aboard.

“Oh, I picked it up from a man named Ed Daylor, who’s a great pal of Dad’s,” answered Mark. “Last summer he took me on a hunting trip to Lake Okeechobee. He’s been among the Indians for many years, hunting and fishing, and he’s a regular big swamp woodsman. He can follow a trail through the swamps and never once lose his bearings. And he’s a corker at poling.”

“What’s that?”

“Poling? Why, you have to use a pole instead of a paddle, in traveling through the Glades. Don’t you, Dave?”

“Sure. Seminole no good with paddle,” admitted the guide. “Heap good with pole.”

“Even on salt water a Seminole usually poles or sails round the coast,” put in Captain Vinton. “You’re likely to see one of Dave’s tribe cruisin’ along shore ’most any time in a cypress-log canoe,—makin’ fair progress, too. By the way, I’ve got two good poles on board now. Thought I’d better take ’em along, as good ones are hard to find even along the coast. Go an’ fetch one, Dave, my hearty.”

The guide went aft to find the canoe poles, which were fastened to the rail. While he was busy untying them, Vinton, who seemed to be in a talkative mood, continued to enlighten the boys.

“They’re hard to find, ’cause they’ve got to be straight saplings,” said he. “In the Glades a paddle ain’t much use, an’ if you break your pole and haven’t another with you, you’re in a bad fix.”

“See,” he added, as Dave returned with a pole, “here she is, an’ a good straight, strong one, too.”

The pole which he handed around for the boys’ inspection was about eight feet long, slender and supple, tapering at the upper end. About one inch from the larger end a triangular inverted bracket was nailed.

“It looks like the stilts we used to hobble around on,” said Billy, balancing the pole.

“It surely does,” agreed the captain. “That part of the pole that’s beyond the bracket keeps it from slippin’ on rocks, and its flattened end, besides the bracket, or foot, stops it from sinkin’ very far into mud. You’ll get the hang o’ it after you’ve seen Dave polin’. That will be in another day or two.”

The “day or two” proved short enough, for the beginning of the homeward cruise was pleasant, favored by perfect weather. At nightfall of the second day, the _Arrow_ cast anchor off the mouth of a broad, shallow river. For two days they had been sailing through a labyrinth of small islands, and now they found themselves beached on a little cove at the river’s mouth. Here a clearing had been made in the luxuriant growth and a settlement had been established, consisting of four cabins and several tents.

Dave knew the place well; in fact, he had advised them to start inland from here, for he had friends who were willing to lend the amateur explorers two very serviceable log canoes. They had purchased other supplies, including a tent and rubber sleeping-bags, mosquito netting, leather leggings and heavy shoes, at Key West. Also medicines, in case of need.

“Well, here we are on the edge of the Everglades!” said Norton the next morning, when all the provisions and suitable clothing had been properly packed away in the two cypress dug-outs. “And now for an inland voyage to the Seminole country!”

Before them lay a sea of apparently pathless grass, through which the river crawled slowly until it seemed to be lost among huge lily-pads. Cutting through the saw-grass in all directions, spreading out like the lines in a human hand, were many shallow water-courses.

“Which one shall we take, Dave?” asked Norton.

“Take dat one first,” replied the guide, pointing. “By-a-by we come to camp. Dave know.”

Taking the pole, he got into the larger of the two canoes, and Alec, Chester, and Mark took their places in front of him, as it had been arranged by drawing lots. In the other canoe, which was managed by a young Indian named Jim, the other two boys and Norton stowed themselves. At the last moment Captain Vinton had decided to remain at the settlement and await their return, for a short trip in the Everglades had no charms for him. This was perhaps just as well, for it evened the crews of the canoes, and gave a place to young Jim, who was a better guide than the worthy captain.

Both Dave and Jim knew the direction of the Seminole camp, and though they headed off into the wrong water-course once during the morning, they did not go far afield. The streams were wonderfully clear, except in places where the guides had to pole through enormous patches of water plants and grasses. For six miles they pushed into the Glades, and about noon they reached a small inland island on which was a rude landing made of wreckage from the coast.

Dave explained that his tribesmen often transport planks and timbers very long distances, lashed to their canoes on the outside. At this landing they found numerous poles standing in the mud where former owners had left them at random. The boys borrowed some of these poles, for they were eager to learn the art of swamp navigation from their friendly guides.

They all landed, and soon they were enjoying a fine lunch of fish, fruit, tea and hardtack. Later, strolling along the shore of the islet, Jim shot an alligator, which he deftly skinned with his sheath-knife. Then he hung the skin upon poles to stretch and dry.

“Me leave um here ’till come back,” he said.

“Why, Jim, aren’t you afraid somebody will steal it?” asked Billy in surprise.

Jim frowned and shook his head. Dave glanced sharply at the young scout, as if he were vexed at Billy’s question.

“Nobody steal,” he said quietly. “Only Injuns around here—miles, miles.” He waved his arms in a comprehensive sweep of the horizon. “Seminole always honest,” he added.

“That’s the truth, all right,” said Mark. “A Seminole is as honest as the daylight.”

Whereupon the question was dropped, although Billy could not refrain from whispering in an aside to Mark. “Did you say as the daylight, or _in_ the daylight, sonny?” And Mark grinned a response.

After lunch, with Dave’s canoe leading the way, they continued their inland voyage, marveling at the strange country through which they passed. Sometimes, plunging the pole through several feet of mud that underlay the clear water of the streams on which the canoes glided, Dave and Jim struck the hard rock bottom of limestone. The oceans of saw-grass, the occasional groves of palm, wild fig, mangoe, and rubber trees, the clumps of cypress, all were rooted in a bed of mud of various depths.

Pushing on slowly, they came at last to a good place for a camp that night. It was a small circular island, on the top of which was the framework of an Indian’s lean-to shelter. Covering this with grass, rubber blankets, and netting, they soon had a comfortable “shanty,” fairly well protected from mosquitoes and snakes; and there they spent the night.