"Osceola! Sam!" he called, and ran forward to meet them.

His friends waved to him, but did not quicken their pace. The old negro seemed to be leaning heavily on Osceola's arm, and as he drew nearer, Bill saw that their clothes were dripping wet.

The young Seminole grinned as he came up. "You look as fresh as a daisy!" His tone was cheerful, though it held a hint of weariness. "I certainly hated to leave you up yonder in the plane with that bunch of cutthroats. Sam did too. We've been talking about it. Until I saw your parachute open up, I was darned worried, I can tell you."

"Well," beamed Bill, grasping their hands, "it sure is good to see you both again, I'm okay, but I take it you made bad landings. My fault, too,-I should have explained more about it before you jumped."

"Dat's all right, Ma.r.s.e Bill," piped up Sam. "It's me what brung de trouble. Ma.r.s.e Osceola, he sure am a born parachuter! He done landed fine on dis island-but dis old n.i.g.g.e.r crabbed everything. Come down in de gra.s.s out yonder. Dem sharp-tooth edges sure cut me pretty bad. And I ain't no hand at dis jumpin' business nohow. Like to drownded myself if Ma.r.s.e Osceola hadn't come in an' drug me out. Got all tangled up in de gra.s.s and dem ropes, wif de big umbrella down on top of me, tryin' t'

smudder me to death. I sure is obliged to you gentlemen for gettin' me away from de workin's-but I'd rather stay put there all my born days than go through all dat again. Not _me_, suh!"

The old man sat down suddenly, and began to shake all over.

"Take it easy, Sam," cautioned Bill. "Just don't think about it for a while. Everything will come out all right."

"I hope so, Ma.r.s.e Bill." Sam's tone, though gloomy, was much less excited. "Dis heah airplane stuff an' parachutin' may be all right fo'

white folks-but if I must do a loop-de-loop, let mine be roun' some chicken coop." He grinned appreciatively at his own joke. "Thank goodness I'm down here where I's gwine to stay. I ain't gwine to be a-oozin' round de sky no mo'-Dis heah n.i.g.g.e.r ain't got too proud to walk. n.o.body ain't gwine to ketch Sam a-flirtin' wif de sun no mo'.

Unh-unh! Not _me!_"

Both lads burst out laughing. "You've got more nerve than the rest of us put together, Sam," declared Osceola.

"You sure have!" Bill knelt at his side. "Osceola is a warrior and a gentleman, but he can't bandage for a tinker's hoop. Let me fix those things. And how about this ankle-you were limping, uncle?"

"It ain't no sprain, suh. I kin walk on dat foot-but she sure do hurt po'werful bad."

"You've wrenched and strained it." Bill's deft fingers were lightly pressing the old man's ankle. "We'll bind it up tighter and keep you off your feet for a couple of days, and you'll be able to do your hundred yards in ten flat!"

"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 gra.s.s 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 a.s.sortment, 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 gra.s.s 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!"

Bill stared gloomily over the prairie-like monotony of the Glades. Smoke from the wreck had now entirely disappeared. He shuddered as his mind dwelt for an instant on the horrible fate of its gangster-pa.s.sengers.

Then his eye caught the deeper green of trees in the far distance.

"There seem to be a lot of islands in this big swamp," he said. "Many of them inhabited, Osceola?"

"Not in this part of the Glades, Bill. My people are practically the sole inhabitants of this part of the world. And they live on islands, of course. But a long, long way from here."

"Have you any plan?"

"Yes-I think so."

"Well, spring it then, old top. You're in command from now on. I know as little about this kind of thing as-"

"As I do about flying," supplemented Osceola with a grin.

"Rather less, if you ask me. Let's hear what you propose, Chief."

The young Seminole did not reply at once. His bronzed forehead was corrugated in a frown. For several minutes he seemed lost in thought.

"There are just three things we've got to have," he said suddenly. "And we've got to have them right away."

"Water, food and a boat," Bill suggested.

"Right. If we're forced to, we can drink Glades water, but it's dangerous, and would probably make us ill. There ought to be a spring or two on this island; I reckon you're elected to the job of locating fresh drinking water, Bill, and bringing it into camp."

"Aye, aye, sir."

"Food, next," mused Osceola. "Sam-do you think you can hobble round well enough to attend to the commissariat?"

"I sure can," grinned the old darkey. "If I ain't mistook, I done catch a glimpse of half a dozen blue heron back yonder. Dey ain't chicken, a-course, but dey sure is a mighty fine eatin'. Loan me dat shooter of yourn, Ma.r.s.e Bill, and dis heah n.i.g.g.e.r will provide dinner."

Bill pa.s.sed over his revolver. "I'll trade you for your knife, Sam, while you get into your clothes. I've got to have something to make a water container-that is, when I find the water."

He pulled his parachute toward him and commenced to untie the pack.

"Reckon I'll mosey along," announced Osceola. "I've got to manufacture a boat of some sort."

"You ain't a-gwine to get far with dat knife o' yourn in makin' a dugout, Ma.r.s.e," broke in Sam.

"But that's not my idea," the Seminole said quietly, but without giving any further information about his plans. "Bill, when you get through totin' water, look me up, will you? I'm going along there to the east.

You'll find me near the sh.o.r.e-and I'll probably need your help."

"Okay," sang out Bill, pulling his parachute from the pack. "I'll join you as soon as I can."