Т. C. Бриджес
Приключенията на Мартин Крузо (30)

T. C. Bridges
Martin Crusoe (30)

Сред блатата на Флорида

Четирима души гребяха срещу течението на реката. По бреговете се издигаха високи растения. Във въздуха летяха бели фламинго, а от време на време във водата скачаха големи риби.

— Ужасна горещина! — изпъшка Лад.

Той пусна за малко греблата, изтри челото си с кърпа и запали цигара.

Мартин погледна седналия на кърмата Уилърд и попита:

— Колко път ни остава?

— Ето го острова — каза Уилърд, като посочи една палма.

Лад хвърли цигарата и отново започна да гребе.

Той постави ръка над очите си и внимателно разгледа брега на острова.

— Слушайте, Крузо — каза той, — виждам група червенокожи. Сред тях няма нито един бял.

На остров Манати имаше около двайсетина души, които се наредиха покрай лодката и започнаха да просят тютюн.

Вождът им, нечистоплътен червенокож с дълга коса, наречен Тигровата опашка, се опита да се пазари.

— Какво ще ми дадеш, ако ти доведа белия човек? — попита той.

— Ако не ни заведеш веднага при него, ще те смажа от бой — каза Лад заплашително, като насочи пистолета си към него.

— Добре, последвайте ме — каза Тигровата опашка и тръгна по тясна пътечка. Земята беше блатиста и от нея се разнасяше неприятна миризма. Те стигнаха до една полянка, на която се издигаше малка къща. Около нея имаше няколко колиби, в които живееха индианци. Тигровата опашка спря пред първата колиба.

— Белият човек живее тук! — процеди през зъби той.

Мартин се спусна към нея и повдигна кожата, която бе спусната пред входа.

Един дрипав човек с побеляла коса седеше върху стар сандък. Като видя Мартин, той стана и се втренчи в лицето му.

— Ти ли си, Мартин? — каза той.

— Татко! — извика Мартин, като хвана ръцете на баща си. — О, татко! Какво са направили с теб?

Господин Крузо се овладя.

— О, аз знаех, че ще ме намериш!

— Този мръсник Уилърд ми телеграфира, че си умрял!

— Така и предполагах! И все пак нещо ми подсказваше, че ще тръгнеш да ме търсиш. Само тази надежда ме крепеше. Къде е Уилърд?

— Пред колибата, с капитан Кригер и Лад. Всъщност ти не ги познаваш. Да се махаме от това проклето място. После всичко ще ти разкажа.

Мартин хвана баща си подръка и го изведе навън.

— Татко — радостно каза той, — това е капитан Кригер! А това е приятелят ми Лад.

Видът на господин Крузо направи мъчително впечатление на двамата мъже. Страданията, изживени от бащата на Мартин през последните шест месеца, го бяха обезобразили.

Мартин трепереше от гняв.

— Това е твое дело, мошенико! — яростно изкрещя той на Уилърд.

— Обещахме да не го предаваме в ръцете на полицията, Мартин — напомни Лад. — Сега спокойно можем да го оставим тук, където е искал да погуби баща ти. Дръжте го! Хванете го! — внезапно извика той.

Уйлърд бе побягнал и за секунди се скри в храсталаците. Лад веднага хукна след него, но го изгуби от погледа си.

— Хванете го! — продължаваше да крещи репортерът.

— Ако се докопа до лодката, ще избяга! — извика капитан Кригер.

В този миг се разнесе болезнен вик. Нещо тежко се строполи на земята.

Лад и Мартин се спуснаха по посока на вика и едва не се препънаха в тялото на Уилърд, който се гърчеше от болка.

— Ухапа ме кортал! — изстена той.

XXX. In the Heart of the Glades

Four people paddled a large canoe up a narrow waterway fringed on either side with tall gray saw-grass. The water, smooth as glass, reflected the crimson rays of a blazing sunset. Overhead a flight of snowy flamingos winged their way, while big fish rose with heavy plopping splashes.

“It’s mighty hot,” remarked one of the paddlers. It was Mr. Ladd. He stopped paddling, mopped his forehead and rolled himself a cigarette. “Guess we’ve earned a stand easy,” he said.

Martin, whose face and arms were burnt to the color of an old saddle, looked at Willard, who was sitting sullenly in the stern of the canoe.

“How far have we to go?” he demanded.

Willard pointed to a clump of tall palms which were just visible across the desert of swamp and saw-grass which made up the Florida Everglades. “That’s the island,” he said.

Ladd dropped his cigarette as if it had been a hot coal, and snatched up his paddle.

“That’s Manatee Island, is it? Great snakes, why didn’t you say so before?”

“No one asked me,” answered Willard sulkily.

The look Ladd gave him was not a pleasant one, but he did not speak again. He dipped his paddle deep, and, as the other three followed suit, the canoe went away as if she had an engine in her, leaving a boiling wake behind.

The clump of palms rose quickly into sight, the saw-grass opened, and showed a wide lagoon with an island about a mile across lying in its center.

Martin could hardly breathe for excitement. This was Manatee Island, the lonely scrap of land deep in the heart of the great Everglades, in which, according to Willard, Martin’s father had been left a prisoner in the hands of a band of Seminole Indians.

If he were still alive he and his son would meet within another five minutes.

Ladd stopped paddling again and stared towards the island, shading his eyes with his hand from the glare of the setting sun.

“Say, Vaile,” he remarked, “there’s a bunch of Indians down by the landing. But I see no white man among ’em.”

The Seminoles of the Everglades are a poor and rather cowardly lot who live by fishing. On Manatee Island there were only about twenty all told, and, so far from offering any resistance, they crowded round the canoe, begging for tobacco and cartridges.

Ladd knew how to talk to them. Martin stood by, positively shaking with anxiety as the American ordered them to produce their prisoner.

The chief, a long-haired person who looked as if he had never washed in his life, but who was called by the high-sounding name of Tigertail, looked doubtful.

“What you give me if I bring you white man?” he asked.

“I’ll give you the worst hammering you ever had in your life if you don’t take us to him double quick,” retorted Ladd; and his hand went to his pistol pocket.

Tigertail took the hint.

“All right. You come this way,” he answered sulkily.

He led the way back from the beach by a narrow path overhung by enormous live oaks. Great trails of Spanish moss hung from the branches, cutting off the light so that it was almost dark beneath. The ground was wet and swampy, and had a sour, unpleasant smell.

They came out into an open space where one of those strange old shell mounds rose among the trees. Here were some rough huts in which the Indians lived. Tigertail led them to one of these.

“Him white man live here,” he grunted.

Martin dashed forward, and flung aside the curtain of skins which covered the door.

A man rose from an old packing-case. He was dressed in rags. His hair was quite white, and so was his untrimmed beard. He stood staring at Martin, as though he saw a ghost.

“You, Martin?” he gasped.

“Dad!” cried Martin, grasping both his father’s hands. “Oh, Dad! What have they done to you?”

Mr. Vaile recovered a little.

“Martin, is it really you? But I knew you would find me.”

“It’s a miracle I ever did, Dad. That blackguard Willard wired me that you were dead.”

“I thought as much,” returned Mr. Vaile grimly. “Yet I always felt that you would come in search of me. It was only that which kept me going at all. Where is Willard?”

“Outside with Captain Krieger and Mr. Ladd. But I forgot, you don’t even know who they are, and there’s no time to tell you now. What we’ve got to do is to get you away from this beastly place just as quickly as ever we can.”

“I can assure you I am quite ready to go,” answered his father, with the ghost of a smile.

Martin put his strong young arm round his father, and led him out.

“Here he is!” he announced joyfully. “This is Captain Krieger, father, and here is Mr. Ladd. I owe a lot to both of them.”

Martin saw, by their faces, how shocked they were at the appearance of Mr. Vaile. And he himself, seeing now in a stronger light the wreck of the fine man that his father had been only a few months ago, felt his blood boil.

He swung round on Willard.

“This is your doing, you blackguard!” he said fiercely.

Ladd wisely interrupted.

“We promised not to prosecute, sonny,” he remarked mildly. “That was as far as our undertaking went, as I remember. But, see here, there ain’t reason why we shouldn’t leave him right here where he’s left Mr. Vaile all this time—Hi, stop him!” he broke off, and sprang forward; for Willard, with a sudden howl of terror, had turned and bolted out of the glade, and Ladd, quick as he was, was not quite quick enough to catch him.

“After him!” shouted Ladd. “He’s making for the boat. If he reaches it first he’ll get away.”

His words were cut short by a scream. There was the sound of a heavy fall.

Ladd and Martin, racing forward, almost fell over Willard, who lay in the path writhing in agony.

“I’m snake-bit,” he groaned. “A rattler got me.”