The Rover Boys in Southern Waters Part 8

Bang! crack! bang! went three pistols in rapid succession, and as the reports died away the bob cat fell in a heap on the bottom of the launch, snarling viciously. Then Dandy, still exhausted from his fight in the water, leaped on the beast and held it down while Tom finished it with a bullet in the ear.

"Is it dead?" asked Songbird, after a painful silence.

"I guess so. Light a match, somebody."

Several matches were lit and then an old oil lantern which chanced to be on board. The bob cat was indeed dead and near it lay the dog, with a deep scratch in its foreshoulder.

"n.o.ble Dandy, you did what you could," said Harold Bird, affectionately.

Very gingerly Tom and d.i.c.k picked up the carca.s.s of the bob cat and threw it overboard. By this time the launch had drifted a good fifty feet from sh.o.r.e, and there they anch.o.r.ed.

"Keep that lantern lit," said Fred. "I can't stand the darkness after such doings!"

"If those thieves are around they must have heard the shots," said Sam. "So a light won't make much difference."

"I am going to examine the gas lamp," said the young Southerner, and did so. A bit of dirt had gotten into the feed pipe of the lamp, and when this was cleaned out with a thin wire the light worked as well as ever.

It was some time after the excitement before any of the crowd could get to sleep again. Then Hans got a nightmare and yelled "Bop cats!

fire! murder!" and other things as loudly as he could, and that put further rest out of the question, and all waited anxiously for the coming of morning.

CHAPTER VII

THE HOUSEBOAT IN THE BUSHES

With the coming of morning the mist cleared away as if by magic, and soon the warm sunshine put all on board of the gasoline launch in better spirits.

"How is the dog?" questioned d.i.c.k, of the owner of the canine.

"He has been pretty well mauled up, but I think he'll come around with proper attention," answered the young Southerner. "He is a valuable animal--valuable to me because he was a pet of my father--and I'd hate to lose him."

All were hungry and ate their morning lunch with considerable satisfaction, washing it down with some coffee made on a small oil stove that had been brought along.

"Well, I don't see anything of the houseboat," announced d.i.c.k, as he stood on a seat and took a long and careful look around. "Not a craft or a building of any kind in sight."

"Some negroes used to live on the north sh.o.r.e of the lake," said Harold Bird, "but the floods last year made them vacate in a hurry."

It was decided to move around the sh.o.r.e of the lake slowly, scanning every cove and inlet with care. That the houseboat was hidden somewhere on that expanse of water none of the party had any doubt.

"You could take quite a trip in this launch," said Sam to Harold Bird, as they moved along. "The more I see of the craft the better I like her. May I ask what she is worth?"

"I gave two thousand dollars for her. I bought her in New Orleans and brought her up the river myself. The folks around here don't know much about gasoline launches, but I think she's as nice a craft as anybody would wish."

"How much water does she draw?"

"Only two and a half feet when loaded down--so you see we can get over some pretty shallow spots, if it is necessary."

They were moving along a scantily-wooded stretch of sh.o.r.e when Tom let out a short cry:

"Stop!"

"What's up, Tom?" asked several.

"I saw somebody just now--back of yonder bushes. He stepped out and then stepped back again."

"Was it one of the men we are after?" asked Sam.

"I don't know--he got out of sight before I had a good look at him."

"We'll have to investigate," said d.i.c.k, and to this the others agreed.

With all possible haste the launch was run to the sh.o.r.e and Sam, Tom, and d.i.c.k got out, followed by Harold Bird. The dog came also, limping along painfully.

"Find him, Dandy, find him!" said the young Southerner, in a low tone, and the dog seemed to understand. He put his nose to the ground, ran around for several minutes, and then started off through the bushes.

"Do you think he has struck the trail?" asked Tom.

"I am sure of it," was Harold Bird's positive reply.

The young Southerner called to the dog, and Dandy went forward more slowly, so that they could keep him in sight. They pa.s.sed through one patch of bushes and then came to a clear s.p.a.ce, beyond which was a field of wild sugarcane.

Hardly had the dog struck the cleared spot when from a distance came the report of a pistol. Dandy leaped up in the air, came down in a heap, and lay still.

"Somebody has shot the dog!" cried Sam. "What a shame!"

Harold Bird said nothing, but ran to where the canine lay. Dandy was breathing his last, and in a minute it was all over.

"Poor fellow!" murmured the young Southerner, and there were tears in his eyes. "First the bob cats and now a pistol bullet! Oh, if I can only catch the rascal who fired that shot I'll make him suffer for this!"

"The fellow killed the dog, so the animal could not trail him," said d.i.c.k. "It was certainly a dirty trick."

"It shows that the man is a criminal," put in Tom. "He would not be afraid of us if he was honest."

"And therefore it must have been Gasper Pold or Solly Jackson," said Sam.

"What will you do with the dog?" asked d.i.c.k, after an awkward pause.

"Take him back to the boat and bury him," answered the young Southerner.

"I don't want the wild beasts to feed on him."

"Hadn't we better follow up that man first?"

"We can do so, if you wish."

They pa.s.sed on and looked around that vicinity with care. It must be confessed that they were afraid of being shot at, but nothing of the sort occurred. At one point they saw some footsteps, but these came to an end in a creek flowing into the lake.

As the ground in that vicinity was very treacherous there was nothing to do but to return to the launch and this they did, Harold Bird and d.i.c.k carrying the dead dog between them. All were sorry that the canine was dead, for they realized that the animal had done its best for them against the bob cats.

They had no spade, but with some flat sticks managed to scoop out a hole of respectable depth and in this they buried the canine. Over the spot the young Southerner placed a peculiar stick to mark the spot.