The Rover Boys in Southern Waters: or, The Deserted Steam Yacht. Stratemeyer Edward

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 Dick, 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 Dick, 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 shore of the lake," said Harold Bird, "but the floods last year made them vacate in a hurry."

      It was decided to move around the shore 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 shore 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 Dick, and to this the others agreed. With all possible haste the launch was run to the shore and Sam, Tom, and Dick 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 passed through one patch of bushes and then came to a clear space, 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 Dick. "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 Dick, 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 passed 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 Dick 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.

      "He was a fine dog and was once the pet of my father," he said. "Some day I may place a monument over his grave."

      They left the vicinity and continued on their trip around the lake, scanning every indentation of the shore for a possible glimpse of theDora. There were many winding places, so it was noon before the task was half completed.

      "This is growing to be a longer hunt than I anticipated," remarked Fred. "I thought finding the houseboat would be dead easy."'

      Lunch was had, and once again they went on the search, this time at a point where a bayou joined Lake Sico to a smaller lake. Here they had to move with care, for the bayou was filled with the hidden roots of trees long since thrown down by storms.

      "Of ve ton't look out ve peen caught in dem dree roots," observed Hans, looking down into the water. "Say, ton't da look like vater snakes?"

      "They certainly do, and they are almost as dangerous – for the launch."

      Soon came a grinding tinder the boat and the screw came to a standstill. A tree root had caught fast, and further progress was out of the question until the screw could be cleared.

      "I'll go over and do the job!" cried Tom. "I know how." And the others being willing he divested himself of most of his clothing, leaped overboard, and was soon at work. It was no light task, as he had to cut the root in several places with a jackknife.

      "We had better land and look around," said Harold Bird. "I'd hate to get the screw caught again and break it, for then we'd certainly be in a pickle."

      "Could the houseboat get through here?" questioned Fred.

      "Yes, they could pole her through, with hard work," answered Dick.

      They turned the gasoline launch to shore and tied fast. Then all began to leap out.

      "This won't do," cried Dick. "Somebody ought to remain on the launch."

      "I would like to go with you and look for the houseboat," answered Harold Bird. "I think the launch will be safe where she is."

      "If you want me to stay I'll do it, if Songbird will stay with me," said Fred.

      "I'll stay," said Songbird, promptly.

      So it was arranged, and leaving the two in charge of the gasoline launch, all the others of the party set off on their search for the missing houseboat.

      Walking along the shore of the small lake was decidedly treacherous, and more