Chums in Dixie

St. George Rathborne
怄
Chums in Dixie, by St. George Rathborne

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Title: Chums in Dixie or The Strange Cruise of a Motorboat
Author: St. George Rathborne
Release Date: May 17, 2007 [EBook #21507]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ASCII
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CHUMS IN DIXIE ***

Produced by Al Haines

[Frontispiece: "There he comes right now, Larry; and he's holding up some game you like right well."]

Chums In Dixie
OR
THE STRANGE CRUISE OF A MOTORBOAT
By
ST. GEORGE RATHBORNE

Author of
"THE HOUSE BOAT BOYS," "THE YOUNG FUR-TAKERS," "CANOE MATES IN CANADA," Etc.

M. A. DONOHUE & CO.,
Chicago

COPYRIGHT 1912.
M. A. DONOHUE & COMPANY.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I.
THE VOYAGE BEGUN II. A BOY OF THE SWAMPS III. THE SQUATTERS OF THE CYPRESS TRACT IV. DOWN THE SWIFT CURRENT V. WHAT HAPPENED ON THE FIRST NIGHT VI. "SAVING THE BACON" VII. LARRY CATCHES THE FEVER VIII. HELD FAST IX. THE SECOND NIGHT OUT X. WHEN THE SLEEPER AWOKE XI. AN UNINVITED GUEST XII. THE SHERIFF AND HIS "DAWGS" XIII. IN THE CYPRESS COUNTRY XIV. LARRY PICKS UP SOME MORE POINTERS XV. A RIDE ON AN ALLIGATOR XVI. UNDER THE TWISTED LIVE OAK XVII. TALKING IT OVER XVIII. THE COMING OF THE TERRIBLE McGEE XIX. TAKEN PRISONER XX. AMONG THE SHINGLE-MAKERS XXI. A GLOOMY OUTLOOK XXII. PHIL SHOOTS HIS BOLT--AND LOSES! XXIII. THE WINGED MESSENGER

CHUMS IN DIXIE
OR
The Strange Cruise of a Motor Boat
By ST. GEORGE RATHBORNE
CHAPTER I
THE VOYAGE BEGUN
"Phil, oh! Phil, won't you please hurry up? I'll go to sleep pretty soon, if we don't get a move on us."
"Just give me five minutes more, Larry, and I promise you we're going to leave this place, and start on our cruise down to the big Gulf. I've got a couple of nuts to put on again, and then you'll hear the little motor begin to hum."
The last speaker was bending over the engine of a fair-sized motor boat, which had a stationary roof, and adjustable curtains that in time of need could be made to enclose the entire vessel.
This modern craft was tied up against the bank of one of those narrow but swift streams that, having their source in southern Georgia or Alabama, find their way to the Gulf of Mexico, after passing through many miles of Florida cypress swamps that are next to unknown territory to the outside world.
Phil Lancing was the son of a well-to-do Northern physician, who had some time previously come into possession of a very large tract of territory in Northern Florida. Considerable of this property was in vast swamps; and here squatters had settled many years back, cutting the trees at their pleasure, and making vast quantities of cypress shingles, which were floated down the river to markets along the gulf.
The second occupant of the brave launch Aurora was a rather chubby specimen of a half grown lad, with a rosy face, and laughing blue eyes. Larry Densmore expected to become a lawyer some fine day, and in evidence of his fitness for the business he was constantly asking questions, and finding debatable points in such matters as naturally came up.
Phil being an amateur naturalist, knew considerable about the woods and their numerous denizens. Larry was an utter greenhorn, and apt many times to display his gross ignorance concerning the habits of game; as well as the thousand and one things a woodsman is supposed to be acquainted with. But his good-nature was really without limit; and one could hardly ever get provoked with Larry, even when he committed the most stupendous of blunders.
Upon hearing these consoling words from his chum, Larry, who was sitting well up in the bow of the boat, yawned and stretched himself. The southern sun was inclined to be warm, and Larry had not slept very well the two nights he had been aboard the motor boat. But then it was nothing very singular to see the chubby lad yawning at any time of the day.
"I'm real glad we've got all our supplies aboard," he said, aloud, just to pass the time away, and to keep awake while Phil was fussing with the engine preparatory to starting on their trip down-stream. "I'm tired of this dead little village that they call a town. And tired of hearing what an awful lot of trouble we're bound to buck up against when we get two-thirds of the way down to the gulf. Wonder what they'd say if they knew your dad owned most all of that property along this crazy old creek they call a river. And that you even expect to stop off
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