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- Author: Robert W. Chambers
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[122]"She must go back," I repeated; and it rather surprised me to find myself already anticipating loneliness—something that never in all my travels had I experienced before.
"By the first train," I added, firmly, disliking Mr. Rowan without any reason except that he had suddenly deprived me of my stenographer.
"What I have to tell you," he began, lighting a cigarette, the mate to which I declined, "is this: Three years ago, before I entered this contracting business, I was in the government employ as officer in the Coast Survey. Our duties took us into Florida waters; we were months at a time working on shore."
He pulled thoughtfully at his cigarette and blew a light cloud into the air.
"I had leave for a month once; and like an ass I prepared to spend it in a hunting-trip among the Everglades."
He crossed his lean legs and gazed meditatively at his cigarette.
"I believe," he went on, "that we penetrated the Everglades farther than any white man who ever lived to return. There's nothing very dismal about the Everglades—the greater part, I mean. You get high and low hummock, marshes, creeks, lakes, and all that. If you get lost, you're a goner. If you acquire fever, you're as well off as the seraphim—and not a whit better. There are the usual animals there—bears (little black fellows) lynxes, deer, panthers, alligators, and a few stray crocodiles. As for snakes, of course they're there, moccasins a-plenty, some rattlers, but, after all, not as many snakes as one finds in Alabama, or even northern Florida and Georgia.
[123]"The Seminoles won't help you—won't even talk to you. They're a sullen pack—but not murderous, as far as I know. Beyond their inner limits lie the unknown regions."
He bit the wet end from his cigarette.
"I went there," he said; "I came out as soon as I could."
"Why?"
"Well—for one thing, my companion died of fright."
"Fright? What at?"
"Well, there's something in there."
"What?"
He fixed a penetrating gaze on me. "I don't know, Mr. Gilland."
"Did you see anything to frighten you?" I insisted.
"No, but I felt something." He dropped his cigarette and ground it into the sand viciously. "To cut it short," he said, "I am most unwillingly led to believe that there are—creatures—of some sort in the Everglades—living creatures quite as large as you or I—and that they are perfectly transparent—as transparent as a colorless jellyfish."
Instantly the veiled import of Professor Farrago's letter was made clear to me. He, too, believed that.
"It embarrasses me like the devil to say such a thing," continued Rowan, digging in the sand with his spurred heels. "It seems so—so like a whopping lie—it seems so childish and ridiculous—so cursed cheap! But I fled; and there you are. I might add," he said, indifferently, "that I have the ordinary portion of courage allotted to normal men."
"But what do you believe these—these animals to be?" I asked, fascinated.
[124]"I don't know." An obstinate look came into his eyes. "I don't know, and I absolutely refuse to speculate for the benefit of anybody. I wouldn't do it for my friend Professor Farrago; and I'm not going to do it for you," he ended, laughing a rather grim laugh that somehow jarred me into realizing the amazing import of his story. For I did not doubt it, strange as it was—fantastic, incredible though it sounded in the ears of a scientist.
What it was that carried conviction I do not know—perhaps the fact that my superior credited it; perhaps the manner of narration. Told in quiet, commonplace phrases, by an exceedingly practical and unimaginative young man who was plainly embarrassed in the telling, the story rang out like a shout in a cañon, startling because of the absolute lack of emphasis employed in the telling.
"Professor Farrago asked me to speak of this to no one except the man who should come to his assistance. He desired the first chance of clearing this—this rather perplexing matter. No doubt he didn't want exploring parties prowling about him," added Rowan, smiling. "But there's no fear of that, I fancy. I never expect to tell that story again to anybody; I shouldn't have told him, only somehow it's worried me for three years, and though I was deadly afraid of ridicule, I finally made up my mind that science ought to have a hack at it.
"When I was in New York last winter I summoned up courage and wrote Professor Farrago. He came to see me at the Holland House that same evening; I told him as much as I ever shall tell anybody. That is all, Mr. Gilland."
For a long time I sat silent, musing over the strange [125]words. After a while I asked him whether Professor Farrago was supplied with provisions; and he said he was; that a great store of staples and tins of concentrated rations had been carried in as far as Little Sprite Lake; that Professor Farrago was now there alone, having insisted upon dismissing all those he had employed.
"There was no practical use for a guide," added Rowan, "because no cracker, no Indian, and no guide knows the region beyond the Seminole country."
I rose, thanking him and offering my hand. He took it and shook it in manly fashion, saying: "I consider Professor Farrago a very brave man; I may say the same of any man who volunteers to accompany him. Good-bye, Mr. Gilland; I most earnestly wish for your success. Professor Farrago left this letter for you."
And that was all. I climbed back into the rickety carriage, carrying my unopened letter; the negro driver cracked his whip and whistled, and the horses trotted inland over a fine shell road which was to lead us across Verbena Junction to Citron City. Half an hour later we crossed the tracks at Verbena and turned into a broad marl road. This aroused me from my deep and speculative reverie, and after a few moments I asked Miss Barrison's indulgence and read the letter from Professor Farrago which Mr. Rowan had given me:
"Dear Mr. Gilland,—You now know all I dared not write, fearing to bring a swarm of explorers about my ears in case the letter was lost, and found by unscrupulous meddlers. If you still are willing to volunteer, knowing all that I know, join me as soon as possible. If family considerations deter you from taking what perhaps is an insane risk, I shall not expect you to join me. In that event, return to New York immediately and send Kingsley.
"Yours, F."
[126]"What the deuce is the matter with him!" I exclaimed, irritably. "I'll take any chances Kingsley does!"
Miss Barrison looked up in surprise.
"Miss Barrison," I said, plunging into the subject headfirst, "I'm extremely sorry, but I have news that forces me to believe the journey too dangerous for you to attempt, so I think that it would be much better—" The consternation in her pretty face checked me.
"I'm awfully sorry," I muttered, appalled by her silence.
"But—but you engaged me!"
"I know it—I should not have done it. I only—"
"But you did engage me, didn't you?"
"I believe that I did—er—oh, of course—"
"But a verbal contract is binding between honorable people, isn't it, Mr. Gilland?"
"Yes, but—"
"And ours was a verbal contract; and in consideration you paid me my first week's salary, and I bought shirt-waists and a short skirt and three changes of—and tooth-brushes and—"
"I know, I know," I groaned. "But I'll fix all that."
"You can't if you break your contract."
"Why not?"
"Because," she said, flushing up, "I should not accept."
"You don't understand—"
"Really I do. You are going into a dangerous country and you're afraid I'll be frightened."
"It's something like that."
"Tell me what are the dangers?"
[127]"Alligators, big, bitey snakes—"
"Oh, you've said all that before!"
"Seminoles—"
"And that too. What else is there? Did the young man in the sun-helmet tell you of something worse?"
"Yes—much worse! Something so dreadfully horrible that—"
"What?"
"I am not at liberty to tell you, Miss Barrison," I said, striving to appear shocked.
"It would not make any difference anyway," she observed, calmly. "I'm not afraid of anything in the world."
"Yes, you are!" I said. "Listen to me; I'd be awfully glad to have you go—I—I really had no idea how I'd miss you—miss such pleasant companionship. But it is not possible—" The recollection of Professor Farrago's aversion suddenly returned. "No, no," I said, "it can't be done. I'm most unhappy over this mistake of mine; please don't look as though you were ready to cry!"
"Don't discharge me, Mr. Gilland," she said.
"I'm a brute to do it, but I must; I was a bigger brute to engage you, but I did. Don't—please don't look at me that way, Miss Barrison! As a matter of fact, I'm tender-hearted and I can't endure it."
"If you only knew what I had been through you wouldn't send me away," she said, in a low voice. "It took my last penny to clothe myself and pay for the last lesson at the college of stenography. I—I lived on almost nothing for weeks; every respectable place was filled; I walked and walked and walked, and nobody [128]wanted me—they all required people with experience—and how can I have experience until I begin, Mr. Gilland? I was perfectly desperate when I went to see you, knowing that you had advertised for a man—" The slightest break in her clear voice scared me.
"I'm not going to cry," she said, striving to smile. "If I must go, I will go. I—I didn't mean to say all this—but—but I've been so—so discouraged;—and you were not very cross with me—"
Smitten with remorse, I picked up her hand and fell to patting it violently, trying to think of something to say. The exercise did not appear to stimulate my wits.
"Then—then I'm to go with you?" she asked.
"I will see," I said, weakly, "but I fear there's trouble ahead for this expedition."
"I fear there is," she agreed, in a cheerful voice. "You have a rifle and a cage in your luggage. Are you going to trap Indians and have me report their language?"
"No, I'm not going to trap Indians," I said, sharply. "They may trap us—but that's a detail. What I want to say to you is this: Professor Farrago detests unmarried women, and I forgot it when I engaged you."
"Oh, is that all?" she asked, laughing.
"Not all, but enough to cost me my position."
"How absurd! Why, there are millions of things we might do!—millions!"
"What's one of them?" I inquired.
"Why, we might pretend to be married!" Her frank and absolutely innocent delight in this suggestion was refreshing, but troubling.
[129]"We would have to be demonstrative to make that story go," I said.
"Why? Well-bred people are not demonstrative in public," she retorted, turning a trifle pink.
"No, but in private—"
"I think there is no necessity for carrying a pleasantry into our private life," she said, in a perfectly amiable voice. "Anyway, if Professor Farrago's feelings are to be spared, no sacrifice on the part of a mere girl could be too great," she added, gayly; "I will wear men's clothes if you wish."
"You may have to anyhow in the jungle," I said; "and as it's not an uncommon thing these days, nobody would ever take you for anything except what you are—a very wilful and plucky and persistent and—"
"And what, Mr. Gilland?"
"And attractive," I muttered.
"Thank you, Mr. Gilland."
"You're welcome," I snapped. The near whistle of a locomotive warned us, and I rose in the carriage, looking out across the sand-hills.
"That is probably our train," observed the pretty stenographer.
"Our train!"
"Yes; isn't it?"
"Then you insist—"
"Ah, no, Mr. Gilland; I only trust implicitly in my employer."
"We'll wait till we get to Citron City," I said, weakly; "then it will be time enough to discuss the situation, won't it?"
"Yes, indeed," she said, smiling; but she knew, and I [130]already feared, that the situation no longer admitted of discussion. In a few moments more we emerged, without warning, from the scrub-crested sand-hills into the single white street of Citron City, where China-trees hung heavy with bloom, and magnolias, already set with perfumed candelabra, spread soft, checkered shadows over the marl.
The train lay at the station, oceans of heavy, black smoke lazily flowing from the locomotive; negroes were hoisting empty fruit-crates aboard the baggage-car, through the door of which I caught a glimpse of my steel cage and remaining paraphernalia, all securely crated.
"Telegram hyah foh Mistuh Gilland," remarked the operator, lounging at his window as we descended from our
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