The boys took a lot of the big silver scales as souvenirs and then slid the body of the tarpon into the bay, where it was soon devoured by a couple of wandering sharks.

CHAPTER XI

GHOSTS AND ALLIGATORS

The boys spent a day exploring the bay to the east and south, finding but a single creek, which lost itself in the jungle after wandering a few miles.

“I don’t believe we can get through this way,” said Dick to his chum, as they were resting, after an hour of hard work, cutting away branches of trees and dragging the canoe.  “Mr. Streeter told me that the Indians say there is no creek between the bays at the head of Broad River, where we are, and the rivers south of it.  Suppose we work our way to the mouth of this river and then follow the coast down to Harney’s, which is the next river south of us and the longest one in South Florida.”

“All right, and we can explore that big creek running west from the foot of this bay, which we saw yesterday.”

The boys found the creek to be deep with swift water, but so crooked that a snake would have had to slow up to get through it.  After two miles of paddling, which advanced them about half a mile, they found themselves in a broad smooth-flowing river, the most beautiful stream they had ever seen.  The big trees on the banks were clothed with airplants, draped with long, flowing gray moss and garlanded with flowering and sweet-scented vines.  Sometimes an opening in the forest showed broad savannahs, or prairies, or disclosed groups of tall palmettos or magnificent royal palms, the grandest tree that grows.  The water was mirror-like, and the great trees, capped by a mass of white clouds in the blue of the heavens, were repeated below in a reflection that was perfect.  The boys paddled for a long time, silent as if in a dream, when Ned spoke in a voice so low that his companion could scarcely hear what he said: 

“Does it make you think of Heaven, Dick?”

“Guess it does; only,” added Dick, in a louder tone, “it will make you think of the other place, pretty soon.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s a deserted river.  Only ghosts stay here.  The plantations are grown over, the houses rotting and little sticks in the ground tell where the old owners are.  The climate is so bad that skull and bone notices grow on the trees.  Then things happen.  People eat something and die, or fall out of their boats and drown, or go out in the woods and stay till the buzzards find them.  Oh, but it’s the peaceful, lovely Rodgers River!”

“Why, where did you hear all that, Dick?”

“From Mr. Streeter.  He talked a lot and I didn’t forget much that he said.  Then Johnny had heard the talk of convicts, and others who ought to have been, and told me about them almost in a whisper, for fear somebody would hear him.”

“There’s a rotting old shack, now, by that date palm.  Are you afraid of ghosts?”