The Outdoor Chums on the Gulf Part 12

"How big is he?" asked the one who had slain the reptile.

"I should say all of ten feet, perhaps even eleven. They seldom grow bigger than twelve down here, I'm told, so this one is something of a whopper. If the alligator man I talked with at Coney Island a year ago told the truth, then this one must be several hundred years old."

"Whew! Perhaps he saw Columbus land!" suggested Bluff humorously, for he could not quite believe any such tale.

He concluded merely to knock out a tooth or two, to remember the event, but when Will heard about it he insisted on being ferried over so as to get a picture of their first Florida 'gator, with the proud Bluff standing beside it, to prove its length.

They got under way about eight o'clock.

Just at that time Jerry said he heard some distant shooting. It seemed to come from the direction the sheriff and his party had gone, so they wondered if they could have come up with the fugitive Bob, and whether those shots had any reference to the two hounds.

"I think the fellow must have been armed, and unless his gun became useless after his bath last night, his first care would be to shoot down the dogs, so as to cut off pursuit," ventured Frank.

They afterward learned, however, by making inquiries, that the sheriff got his man, wounded, and that Bob later on paid the penalty of his crime.

By noon that day they came to a sawmill, where a party of convicts, under guard, were making cypress shingles. Our boys did not put in, for the sight was anything but pleasing to them; although Will did think it wise to get a picture of the camp, so as to add variety to his collection.

About three o'clock they suddenly came to a little town. Here they stopped only a brief time, Frank going ash.o.r.e to post some letters and purchase a few things he had on his list.

Once more they were afloat.

"I've got some pleasant news for you, fellows," said Frank, about an hour or so after they had lost sight of the settlement in the woods.

"Along what line?" asked Will.

"I think I can guess. For some time I've been sniffing the air, and ready to declare that it had a whiff of salt in it!" exclaimed Jerry.

"And I could, in imagination, smell those fine fat oysters roasting,"

said Bluff, smacking his lips in antic.i.p.ation.

"You're on, all right. The gulf is close at hand. Indeed, I'm adding a little speed just now, in the hope that we may be able to open it up before night," remarked Frank.

"How about that bend, just below? Somehow, it strikes me that once we round that something may be doing. It's just a sneaking notion, but you wait," ventured Jerry.

Ten minutes later they swept around the bend in question, and a cry burst from every lip, for there, in the light of the declining sun, lay the great Mexican Gulf, stretching as far in the distance as the eye could see.

The river cruise was ended, and another kind of adventure lay before them.

CHAPTER XI

ALL THE COMFORTS OF SALT WATER

"Why are you slowing up, Frank?"

"Yes, just when we ought to make a grand burst of speed, too," said Jerry.

"You forget that the sun is low, and evening close at hand," replied Frank,

"Tell me about that, and what it has to do with us. I'm a greeny when it comes to running a motor-boat."

"Oh, the boat has little to do with it; but please remember that the Gulf of Mexico is a larger affair than Camalot Lake. In fact, it means the ocean, with all that implies. Suppose we were caught off-sh.o.r.e the very first night with no place to go?"

"That would be tough, for a fact. I think I see what you mean, Frank.

We'll anchor in the mouth of the river to-night--is that it?" continued Jerry.

"Just what I wanted to say. Then in the morning, after we have studied our gulf chart, we can lay out our day's work, if the wind is favorable."

"Wind! Why, we can go whether it blows or not!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Will, who had already taken a snapshot of the picture presented by the open water beyond the island in the mouth of the river.

"Particularly when not. If anything of a south wind is on, the waves are apt to stagger such a little boat as this."

Frank had kept his eyes about him while he talked. He now brought the _Jessamine_ alongside the bank at the most favorable spot he could see.

Jerry was ash.o.r.e immediately.

"Make her additionally secure to-night," said Frank.

"Why, what d'ye expect--a hurricane?" And Will looked anxiously at the clear sky.

"Oh, I guess not; but you see we are now in the region of tides, and a change might swing us around, perhaps break the boat away from sh.o.r.e.

We'd feel nice if we woke up in the morning to find ourselves out of sight of land," laughed Frank.

Of course he was joking, but Will looked serious for some time. He even went ash.o.r.e, after Jerry had finished his job, and Frank, watching out of the corner of his eye, was amused to see him bending down and examining the ropes, as if to make certain they were securely tied.

Will was the possessor of a different nature from his three chums. He could show courage, when necessary, but, as a usual thing, was much more given to sentiment, and in physique he could hardly compare with any of the others.

Bluff had also gone ash.o.r.e, and vanished from view. Frank could easily give a guess as to what sort of an errand he was on. It hardly needed glimpses of him bending over the spots where there were shoals along the tideway to understand that he was looking to see whether the one dearest wish of his heart was about to be fulfilled.

"I guess he'll find some, at last," laughed Frank, after calling Jerry's attention to the fact that the other had gone.

"Bluff is daft on the subject of oysters, all right. He never seems to tire of eating them in season, and yet he says he never picked one up on the spot where it grew. He seems to be coming back, Frank!" exclaimed Jerry, who was working with some fishing tackle that he had found aboard, and which Cousin Archie had used before in Southern waters.

"Hey! They're right here, and in tremendous quant.i.ties! Where's that oyster knife, Frank? Give it to me, please. I want to try a few right on the bed where they grew. Give me a tin kettle, too, and I'll open a mess for supper!" cried the boy ash.o.r.e, as he reached the boat.

"Take care you don't cut your fingers. If these oysters are small, and stand up on edge, in cl.u.s.ters, they're called c.o.o.n oysters, and have a sharp sh.e.l.l that is like a razor," said Frank as he handed the articles over.

"Why c.o.o.n oysters?" demanded Bluff, who always wanted to know.

"Perhaps because they lie on sh.o.r.e, exposed at low water, and the 'c.o.o.ns manage to get a mess occasionally," put in the wise Jerry.

So Bluff hurried away around the bend, to amuse himself to his heart's content opening native oysters right where they grew, something he had looked forward to doing with almost childish delight.

Jerry, having arranged his tackle, got ready to do a little fishing, for it was still half an hour to sunset. He had discovered that there were mullet jumping out of the water here and there, "acrobats of the gulf,"

Frank called them.