278 
FOREST AND S T R E A M 
May, 1918 
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T HE morning of the 7th of March 
found the little expedition still 
camped on the great Coastal.Ham¬ 
mock, near the ragged entrance to Loss- 
man’s River. They were not aware of 
the searching parties. They did not 
know that aeroplanes were scouring the 
’Glades, miles eastward. They only 
knew, after that first serious conference, 
that things were not going well with 
them. The situation had assumed sin¬ 
ister aspects. 
The last of the corn meal was made 
into rather pathetic cakes and cooked 
over a fire that flickered weakly in the 
cold, wet drizzle, for the day was dis¬ 
agreeable. King Jr. shot a sand hill 
crane. It had taken muck w-ading to 
get it, and it was not a generous meat 
dish for three hungry persons. The 
grits—beloved of all—had long since 
given out. 
Mr. King had walked down to where 
the boat was drawn up on the ridge. 
When he returned, his son, with grave 
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The dried-up ’Glades 
veyor, in a scouting expe¬ 
dition which they under¬ 
took in a Curtiss military 
machine. The party of 
men was so far away that 
to have flown near them 
would have taken the 
aeroplane so far from any 
possible safe landing as 
to have necessitated an 
unwarranted risk on the 
part of the searching crew. 
However, they could dis¬ 
cern through their glasses 
that the party was com¬ 
posed of three men, the 
number that left Miami. The scouts saw 
that these men lighted a fire which smoked 
for a time and then went out. . . . Another 
party was sighted some eighteen miles 
southwest of the dredge at the end of the 
canal. This party, however, as they could 
see, had an Indian guide, as was estab¬ 
lished by the bright colors that one of the 
expedition wore. 
“Heavy clouds hung at the range of 
4,000 feet. They were scattered, and the 
aviators could peer through them. Rader 
carried a camera, field glasses and maps, 
and followed as closely as possible the 
route supposed to have been taken by Mr. 
King. It required twenty-five minutes of 
flying to get back from the farthest end 
of the trip to the nearest civilized point 
where a safe landing could have been 
made, had there been engine trouble.” 
Mr. Rader’s daring was of no avail. It 
was finally determined that the King ex¬ 
pedition had NOT been found. 
And, each day, as the weeks of suspense 
followed, a fair-faced little girl, who re¬ 
minds one of Alice in Wonderland, called 
at Captain Jaudon’s office, only to be told 
that nothing had been heard of the 
“Daddy” and Big Brother she loved so 
devotedly and for whose safe return she 
said a daily prayer. 
■ _i ...A- 1 
The water holes amid the saw grass were stagnant 
face, pointed out across the gray and 
misty expanse of shallow ’Glade that 
linked them with Camp Magnolia and the 
property—yet made them inseparable. 
“That’s WHY, Dad—isn’t it?” King 
Jr. asked. 
“What do you mean, Son ?” his father 
demanded. 
“You are afraid of the rocks. Our 
boat was cut coming across the other 
day. There’s a bad plank—cracked— 
leaks a little as it is—if we happened to 
strike the limestone ANOTHER time— 
presto! It would be all up with us. 
We couldn’t get out on foot. It’s the 
boat way or—no way at all!” 
Mr. King was a born optimist. It had 
stood him in very good stead more than 
once. When a man tackles the Ever¬ 
glades, optimism must be part of the 
equipment. With these two youngsters 
along, that quality seemed doubly essen¬ 
tial. They were not to be frightened. 
Nothing must take place to break their 
nerve. On the other hand, frankness 
as to conditions was equally wise— 
equally necessary. They would know, 
sooner or later. 
“Yes,” he said .to his boy, “the con¬ 
dition of the boat decided me. It was 
only by God’s grace that it did not re¬ 
ceive a more serious cut yesterday. As far 
as I can determine, that area is literally 
ribbed and cross-hatched with limestone 
slag. Its projections are knife-sharp. 
Moreover, they take on the appearance of 
innocent muck, dried by the sun or washed 
over by dead grass and plant debris. We 
simply CAN’T run the risk. With a boat 
in perfect condition, I think I would still 
decide against re-tracing our steps.” 
“Then we will go out by the Gulf?” in¬ 
quired Catlow, in sudden surprise. 
“Shark River, if possible,” assented Air. 
King. 
“But that will mean we have crossed the 
’Glades.” 
“Precisely-—there is no other course, 
boys.” 
King Jr. had a habit of being embarrass¬ 
ingly matter-of-fact. 
“What of the eats, Dad?” he- fired at 
them. 
“We must conserve—fish more—shoot 
more game.” 
“But our Commissary department looks 
as if the Indians had pic- 
niced in the boat. There’s 
little or nothing—” 
Mr. King motioned him 
to be silent. 
“It is no time to worry 
—to take stock of suffer¬ 
ing and hardship. Sup¬ 
pose we try smiling in the 
face of danger, Son. The 
fact remains that we do 
not dare trust the boat in 
that shallow, rocky area. 
It would be madness. And 
while there may be deeper 
Mr. King killed a giant moccasin 
water and less rock to the southward, I 
would not care to count on it. Therefore, 
it is Lossman’s River or Shark River. We 
have tried the entrance to Lossman’s. We 
KNOW we can’t get through. Nothing 
(CONTINUED ON PAGE 307) 
