AMONG THE ALLIGATORS.

A low, heavy mutter of thunder came booming through the hot, still air, and Fred Kinnersly looked up sharply from the potatoes he was peeling for his solitary supper. "Another storm!" he growled. "Two already to-day, and now a third. This is beyond a joke."

He dropped his knife, and walked outside, onto the veranda of the little two-roomed shack.

A huge blue-black cloud with hard, shell-like edges was rising over the pines in the northwest, and once again the air quivered and a spark of electric fire lit the heart of the great mountain of whirling vapor.

"Worst rains I've ever known," muttered Fred, "and this is my fifth summer down south. We'll have the mine flooded if this goes on, and all those niggers out of work." He paused; then: "Poor old Sam," he smiled. "What an awful ducking he'll get coming home! Well, thank goodness to-morrow's Saturday. This steamy heat is the very deuce to work in, and I'll be glad of the lay-off on Sunday.

He was turning to go back into the house, when the thud of hoofs far up the track made him pause, and presently a pony shot into sight among the red pine trunks in the distance. Its rider, bending low in the saddle, was sending the plucky little beast along at a furious gallop.

"Why, it's Jack Godfrey!" exclaimed Fred, in surprise. "Why on earth is he in such a deuce of a hurry?"

The pony came tearing down the sandy track, sending spurts of wet sand and water flashing behind it. Next moment Jack Godfrey pulled up at the door and flung himself off the panting, sweating beast.

"What's up?" cried Fred Kinnersly. "You seem in a hurry."

"Is Sam French back yet?" gasped the other.

"No, of course not. He only left the mine after dinner. He generally gets back about ten. Why, what's the matter?" as he saw Godfrey's face go white under the tan.

"Ducane broke jail last night," said Godfrey hoarsely.

Kinnersly staggered. "Good heavens!" he muttered. "How?"

"Set fire to the place. He and his whole gang are out—five of them. They're armed, too. Word came to Orange Port two hours ago that they'd raided Lopez's place early this morning, and left in the direction of the Big Cypress."

"Where's the sheriff?"

"On the wrong track. He thought they'd make for the sea, and he and his posse went toward Wehila. Anderson, the deputy, has got three men, and is on his way round the north end of the Big Cypress. He told me to warn you, and to say that as the water's so high it'll probably be midnight before he reaches Black Bayou."

Kinnersly was whiter than the other. The whole position was clear to him.

In a few words it stood thus: He, Kinnersly, was sub-manager of the Big Lone Pine Phosphate Mine, which lay about a mile from the edge of the swamp known as the Big Cypress. This swamp was twenty-five miles long, but not more than two to three wide.

On the other side of the swamp was Lakeville, the county town. It was distant from the mine seven miles, as the crow flies, and more than twenty by road.

Every Friday afternoon Sam French, the manager of the mine, went to Lakeville in his buggy, accompanied by one negro, to fetch the pay-money for the seventy hands employed in quarrying the phosphate. Sam was well known and popular.

But now—well, there was no one in South Florida who had not heard of the atrocities of Jean Ducane. The man was a mulatto, half French, half negro, who had come to Florida from New Orleans. He had once been employed in the Lone Pine Mine. Trouble began with his getting drunk and insulting Sam, who had promptly knocked him down, and next morning fired him.

Then Ducane had disappeared. A week later Sam French was shot at from the scrub. The mine-hands, who were fond of their manager, made the place too hot to hold the would-be murderer, and the next heard of Ducane was down at Key West.

Escaping from Key West, the mulatto worked his way up the coast to Tampa, where he burgled a bank. But even then he was not caught, and the climax came when he returned to the neighborhood of Lakeville and deliberately fired two houses in the suburbs, causing the death of a woman and two children. The whole neighborhood rose in arms. Ducane was caught, and four negroes with him, and jailed with difficulty by the sheriff in the face of a mob yelling to lynch him.

And now this human wild beast was at large again, and both the young fellows knew that the first thing he would do would be to hold up the manager of the Lone Pine Mine and rob and murder him.

"You see, it's not only revenge," said Kinnersly. "The money would mean everything to him and his gang. All in silver, too!"

"And Sam knows nothing!" cried Godfrey. He pulled out his watch. "What time'll he be passing Black Bayou?"

"About eight, I should think."

"And it's nearly seven now," muttered Godfrey despairingly. "No horse could do it in the time."

"You're sure it will be at Black Bayou?"

"Not a doubt of it. The place is made for a hold-up. Track narrow, thick bay scrub both sides, and there'll be water over the road there, so Sam'll have to walk his horse. It's a death-trap, Fred."

Fred Kinnersly set his teeth. "I'm going to warn him," he said quietly.

Godfrey started. "My dear chap, it's fourteen miles by road. Have you a horse here that can do fourteen miles in an hour over Florida sand and in this storm? Besides, you'd have to come through Black Bayou yourself, and get shot for your pains, to a dead certainty."

"There's another way," said Fred.

"Another way!"

"Across the swamp!"

Godfrey laughed harshly. "You're crazy, Fred."

"Did you ever hear of the Spanish Causeway?" asked Kinnersly quietly.

"That! In this weather! Man, it's under water! All of it. And rotten and broken. You couldn't do it in the dry season and in broad daylight. Listen!"

Again the cloud spat blue fire, and the thunder bellowed angrily over the fast darkening forest.

Kinnersly's jaw hardened. "I'm going to try it. Anything's better than that Sam should be shot down and murdered."

"I tell you it's sheer lunacy. It'll be black dark in half an hour. I wouldn't try it for ten thousand."

"You'll try it for Sam's life," said Kinnersly quietly.

Godfrey stared hard at the other. "You mean to go?"

"I do."

"All right. I'm your man."

In less than five minutes the two, heavily armed, were tramping rapidly along a narrow path which led down a long, gradual slope toward the swamp. By this time clouds had covered the sky and cut off the light of the setting sun. Faster and faster the lightning-flashes shot through the gloom, while the thunder crashed louder and louder till the very ground trembled beneath the reverberations.

Then came the rain in sheets, as if a cataract was falling on the forest. In a few moments the path was swimming. The men were ankle-deep in water, which foamed under the lash of the falling torrents.

They stumbled over twisted roots; long, pliant branches switched their faces; thorny creepers caught and tore their clothes and skin, while now and then the ominous folds of a water-moccasin could be seen in the tangled growth on either side the path.

But the two young men never faltered. Kinnersly leading, they pressed on in single file. The path grew narrower. Here and there Kinnersly was forced to slash the tough creeper with his knife before he could force a passage.

They were on the level now, and the water was nearly knee-deep. To Godfrey, who had never before traveled this path, it was a marvel how Kinnersly found his way.

Gigantic cypresses rose on either side, shutting off the last remnants of light with their monstrous heads of matted foliage; long trails of melancholy Spanish moss brushed their faces, and the air was thick with the pungent scent of palmetto bloom.

Slowly the storm died, passing away into the south, and as the rain ceased the mosquitoes rose in stinging, humming swarms, and the noises of the night swamp burst forth. Bullfrogs bellowed, tree-frogs bleated like lost lambs, crickets shrilled, and owls hooted.

Suddenly Kinnersly sank almost to his waist, but struggled up again immediately. "Look out, Jack. A hole in the causeway," he said quietly.

Godfrey felt the sucking mud beneath the water, and repressed a shiver. At every step the water seemed to deepen. "Shall we do it, Fred?" he muttered.

"It's more open farther on," replied the other. "If the water's not too deep we'll be all right. If it is, we must do a bit of swimming—that's all."

Again they plunged on through the hot darkness. Water and air alike were stagnant. The close steam of the swamp was suffocating, and the darkness was so intense that Godfrey had to follow rather by sound than by sight.

All of a sudden the bushes broke away. They were in the open once more. At that very moment the cloud broke, and the moon shone out clear. The white light fell upon a sheet of water, a wide lagoon, which lay smooth as oil, bounded on every side by a black wall of swamp vegetation.

"This seems to be where we swim, Fred," said Godfrey quietly.

"No," replied Fred. "The causeway crosses, but it's out of sight below the water. Come on."

"Anything's better than those horrible bushes and creepers," said Godfrey. He looked at his watch. "Fred, it's twenty to eight."

"We shall do it," was the confident reply. "It's easier going the far side." As he spoke, Kinnersly stepped out from the shore, and, feeling his way cautiously, walked steadily out across the lake.

Here and there were ugly gaps, but, in the main, the ancient masonry built for some unknown purpose by long-forgotten Spaniards was sound. Their spirits rose as they pressed on rapidly under the welcome light of the full moon.

They were a couple of hundred yards from shore when, all of a sudden, a black object, for all the world like a floating log, rose noiselessly from the depths close on Kinnersly's right.

He stopped sharply, and Godfrey saw him draw his revolver from the holster at his waist.

Godfrey needed no telling. He knew the nature of the new peril which confronted them. An alligator!

Slowly, very slowly, the alligator rose till not only its great gnarled head, but the whole of its long ridged back, was above the water.

"What a brute!" muttered Godfrey, instinctively drawing his big hunting-knife. "Get on, Fred. The alligator's coming closer."

"There's an ugly place just here," replied the other, and Godfrey saw his friend sink nearly to his shoulders, recover himself with an effort, and scramble up the far side. "Wait; I'll help you, Jack," he said, turning.

He pulled his friend across the gap, and then as they both stood up on the far side, in water hardly more than ankle-deep, a simultaneous gasp of horror burst from them both.

Three more alligators had appeared, and, even as they watched, more and more of the hideous monsters rose in ominous silence above the quiet water and came gliding slowly onward toward the causeway.

Their cruel, unwinking eyes shone like green fire in the moon-rays, and the breathless air was full of a sickening odor of musk. There were dozens of them; from huge, rugged veterans of ten or twelve feet and weighing perhaps half a ton, down to fierce, active, hungry six-footers.

For a moment the two young fellows stood hesitating, staring breathlessly at the nightmare spectacle before them. Then Kinnersly desperately cried: "Come on, Jack!"

"Shoot. Why don't you shoot?" exclaimed Godfrey.

"Not till I have to," replied Kinnersly. "Ducane may hear and suspect. If he does, he'll move farther up, and attack Sam before we can reach him."

"But the brutes are closing in."

"Never mind. Come on. Keep close to me, and splash as much as you can."

Kinnersly walked forward. Even in the moonlight he could not see the causeway so much as a step ahead. The thick brown swamp water hid it completely. And both he and Godfrey knew that one false step meant a death almost too horrible for words. An alligator fears a man upright on dry land, but in its native element it fears nothing, and will pull down a dog, a horse, a man, or a bull.

Closer and closer the dreadful brutes closed in till their yard-long jaws actually rested upon the crumbling edges of the sunken causeway.

Now and then one would open his vast jaws and blow the air through his nostrils with a noise like a giant snoring. Then the great yellow tusks would clash together with a sharp, ringing sound horribly suggestive of a steel trap closing.

Kinnersly, who was leading, found the water growing deeper.

"Is there a hole there?" cried Godfrey anxiously.

"Afraid there is, old man," replied Kinnersly, feeling cautiously with one foot. "We ought to have brought sticks."

"The 'gators are closing up behind," said Godfrey desperately. "We must shove ahead at any price."

"Right; I have found bottom. Come on." Kinnersly dropped onto his knees. Immediately the whole horde of alligators began moving up. Godfrey, following close behind his friend and splashing vigorously, could not repress a shiver of horror. "Quick!" he hissed; "quick, or they'll have us."

At that very moment the surface of the water broke in front of Kinnersly, and out of the depths heaved itself up a nightmare apparition. An alligator, bigger than any they had seen yet—a gnarled and rugged monster of huge length and enormous girth.

Getting its short, thick forelegs onto the stonework, it hoisted itself up, completely barring the way. Its cavernous mouth gaped open, showing rows of huge, twisted tusks, which could have bitten a bull in two.

Its fetid breath blew full in Kinnersly's face, nearly sickening him with the horrible, putrefying stench.

"Shoot him!" shouted Godfrey. "The others are coming."

There was no help for it. Kinnersly thrust the muzzle of his pistol almost between the yawning rows of teeth and pulled the trigger.

With the report the monstrous brute flung itself high into the air, and fell over sideways with a crash that sent a wave almost over their heads. Next instant the placid water of the bayou was beaten into showers of spray, which gleamed silver in the brilliant moonlight.

Waves dashed over the causeway. The two men stood still, appalled at the fearful death-struggles of the monster.

"Thank goodness, you got him that time!" exclaimed Godfrey, struggling up out of the water onto firmer ground.

Another moment and all was clear. The great alligator had vanished, and with him the others, frightened at the commotion, had gone, too.

"Now's our chance!" cried Kinnersly, and pushed on with reckless speed.

Fortunately, the rest of the causeway was unbroken, and they reached the far side of the lagoon in safety.

"They're coming up again," muttered Godfrey, glancing back.

"Never mind. They can't hurt us now," cried the other.

They were in the brush again, plunging in the mud under the thick shadows of the cypress. Neither spoke. It was very near eight, and each moment they expected to hear shots. Both dreaded they might be too late.

On they rushed, now waist-deep in a morass of mud and rotting vegetation, now struggling through a tangle of wild grape and bamboo vine.

At last, after what seemed an endless time, the footing grew firmer and the ground began to rise. The cypress and palmetto gave place to pine and wire grass.

"We're close to the road," muttered Kinnersly breathlessly. "And I only hope Sam hasn't passed."

"Listen!" hissed the other, pulling up short. "Yes, I hear horses' feet."

Once more they both rushed forward. The hoof-sounds grew plainer, and the red glow of a cigar shone through the pine trunks.

Kinnersly flung himself recklessly into the open. "Sam, is that you?" he hissed desperately.

There was a sharp exclamation. "Who's that?"

"I—Kinnersly. Stop!"

The buggy came to a standstill, and Kinnersly panted out his explanation.

"You came through the swamp!" exclaimed French, as if he could not believe his ears.

"Yes, but don't you understand? Ducane's loose."

"Oh, that's all right," said the other coolly. "He'll be down in Black Bayou, half a mile away. What fazes me is how you chaps came along the causeway. It was mighty white of you, and I'm real grateful. Jump in, an' let's git along an' interview this here Ducane."

For the life of him Kinnersly could not help laughing. "Sam, don't be a fool! There are probably five of them, and you bet they'll be lying up in the timber. The first you know will be they've shot you."

"I reckon not," returned French, as coolly as before. "It's going to cost me a horse, but that's a sight cheaper'n a thousand dollars in United States currency. Get right in, boys. I've got it all planned inside here," touching the top of his head.

With a shrug of his broad shoulders, Kinnersly obeyed, and Godfrey followed.

"Get your shooting-irons ready," said Sam, in a low voice, at the same time throwing away his cigar. "Now, don't say a word, any of you, or make any noise."

He drove on till the ground dipped again and the narrow road descended toward the gloomy shadow of a thicket of bays. Then he pulled up, got out, and motioned to the others to do the same.

He took out the bags of coin, propped a cushion on the seat with a coat over it, tied the reins to the splash-board, and clucked to the horse to go on.

Kinnersly chuckled silently. "I see now," he whispered.

"Glad o' that," remarked Sam. "Now we'll keep along in the bushes a bit behind the wagon. You come along with me, Kinnersly, an', Godfrey, you take the nigger. I don't need to tell you to shoot straight when the chance comes."

The horse went splashing slowly through the water, here about a foot deep. The four men stole noiselessly along through the bushes on either side.

They had gone perhaps a hundred yards, and reached the bottom of the hollow, where the water was axle-deep, when suddenly a rifle crashed, and a spit of fire flashed from the bushes to the right.

"Got him," came a shout, and men came plunging out of the scrub and surrounded the wagon.

"Now, lads!" came a crisp command from French, and at the word four weapons spoke simultaneously.

Three of the robbers dropped in their tracks. The other two stood dumfounded, unable to imagine whence the sudden attack had come.

Then one of them—Ducane himself—gave a yell of defiance, and came charging furiously toward French's party, firing as he ran.

A bullet whipped Kinnersly's hat from his head. Then a second volley rang out, and Ducane flung up his hands, and, without a sound, fell over on his back. The fifth man ran for his life.

French walked up to the spot where Ducane's body floated.

A patch of white moonlight fell full on the twisted yellow face, and showed a red hole in the very center of the forehead.

"Saved the hangman a job," he said quietly. "Now I reckon we'll walk back to Lakeville, if these other wounded rascals can do the trick. We'll go to the hotel, and the supper's on me to-night, boys."

ESPECIALLY IMPORTANT!!

MOTOR STORIES

A New Idea in the Way of Five-Cent Weeklies.

Boys everywhere will be delighted to hear that Street & Smith are now issuing this new five-cent weekly which will be known by the name of MOTOR STORIES.

This weekly is entirely different from anything now being published. It details the astonishing adventures of a young mechanic who owned a motor cycle. Is there a boy who has not longed to possess one of these swift little machines that scud about the roads everywhere throughout the United States? Is there a boy, therefore, who will not be intensely interested in the adventures of "Motor Matt," as he is familiarly called by his comrades?

Boys, you have never read anything half so exciting, half so humorous and entertaining as the first story listed for publication in this line, called "Motor Matt; or, The King of the Wheel." Its fame is bound to spread like wildfire, causing the biggest demand for the other numbers in this line, that was ever heard of in the history of this class of literature.

Here are the titles to be issued during the next few weeks. Do not fail to place an order for them with your newsdealer.

No. 1. Motor Matt; or, The King of the Wheel. No. 2. Motor Matt's Daring; or, True to His Friends. No. 3. Motor Matt's "Century" Run; or, The Governor's Courier. No. 4. Motor Matt's Race; or, The Last Flight of the Comet.

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NUMBERS 1 TO 396

TIP TOP WEEKLY

ARE CONTAINED IN THE MEDAL LIBRARY

We know that there are thousands of boys who are very much interested in the early adventures of Frank and Dick Merriwell and who want to read everything that was written about them.

We desire to inform these boys that numbers 1 to 396 are pretty well out of print in the TIP TOP WEEKLY, but all of them can be secured in the numbers of the NEW MEDAL LIBRARY given below.

The NEW MEDAL LIBRARY AT FIFTEEN CENTS

150—Frank Merriwell's School-days. 167—Frank Merriwell's Chums. 178—Frank Merriwell's Foes. 184—Frank Merriwell's Trip West. 189—Frank Merriwell Down South. 193—Frank Merriwell's Bravery. 197—Frank Merriwell's Hunting Tour. 201—Frank Merriwell in Europe. 205—Frank Merriwell at Yale. 209—Frank Merriwell's Sports Afield. 213—Frank Merriwell's Races. 217—Frank Merriwell's Bicycle Tour. 225—Frank Merriwell's Courage. 229—Frank Merriwell's Daring. 233—Frank Merriwell's Athletes. 237—Frank Merriwell's Skill. 240—Frank Merriwell's Champions. 244—Frank Merriwell's Return to Yale. 247—Frank Merriwell's Secret. 251—Frank Merriwell's Danger. 254—Frank Merriwell's Loyalty. 258—Frank Merriwell in Camp. 262—Frank Merriwell's Vacation. 267—Frank Merriwell's Cruise. 271—Frank Merriwell's Chase. 276—Frank Merriwell in Maine. 280—Frank Merriwell's Struggle. 284—Frank Merriwell's First Job. 288—Frank Merriwell's Opportunity. 292—Frank Merriwell's Hard Luck. 296—Frank Merriwell's Protégé. 300—Frank Merriwell on the Road. 304—Frank Merriwell's Own Company. 308—Frank Merriwell's Fame. 312—Frank Merriwell's College Chums. 316—Frank Merriwell's Problem. 320—Frank Merriwell's Fortune. 324—Frank Merriwell's New Comedian. 328—Frank Merriwell's Prosperity. 332—Frank Merriwell's Stage Hit. 336—Frank Merriwell's Great Scheme. 340—Frank Merriwell in England. 344—Frank Merriwell on the Boulevards. 348—Frank Merriwell's Duel. 352—Frank Merriwell's Double Shot. 356—Frank Merriwell's Baseball Victories. 359—Frank Merriwell's Confidence. 362—Frank Merriwell's Auto. 365—Frank Merriwell's Fun. 368—Frank Merriwell's Generosity. 371—Frank Merriwell's Tricks. 374—Frank Merriwell's Temptation. 377—Frank Merriwell on Top. 380—Frank Merriwell's Luck. 383—Frank Merriwell's Mascot. 386—Frank Merriwell's Reward. 389—Frank Merriwell's Phantom. 392—Frank Merriwell's Faith. 395—Frank Merriwell's Victories. 398—Frank Merriwell's Iron Nerve. 401—Frank Merriwell in Kentucky. 404—Frank Merriwell's Power. 407—Frank Merriwell's Shrewdness. 410—Frank Merriwell's Set-back. 413—Frank Merriwell's Search. 416—Frank Merriwell's Club. 419—Frank Merriwell's Trust. 422—Frank Merriwell's False Friend. 425—Frank Merriwell's Strong Arm. 428—Frank Merriwell as Coach. 431—Frank Merriwell's Brother. 434—Frank Merriwell's Marvel. 437—Frank Merriwell's Support. 440—Dick Merriwell at Fardale. 443—Dick Merriwell's Glory. 446—Dick Merriwell's Promise. 449—Dick Merriwell's Rescue. 452—Dick Merriwell's Narrow Escape. 455—Dick Merriwell's Racket. 458—Dick Merriwell's Revenge. 461—Dick Merriwell's Ruse. 464—Dick Merriwell's Delivery. 467—Dick Merriwell's Wonders. 470—Frank Merriwell's Honor. 473—Dick Merriwell's Diamond. 476—Frank Merriwell's Winners. 479—Dick Merriwell's Dash. 482—Dick Merriwell's Ability. 485—Dick Merriwell's Trap. 488—Dick Merriwell's Defense. 491—Dick Merriwell's Model. 494—Dick Merriwell's Mystery.

Published About January 5th

497—Frank Merriwell's Backers.

Published About January 26th

500—Dick Merriwell's Backstop.

Published About February 16th

503—Dick Merriwell's Western Mission.

Published About March 9th

506—Frank Merriwell's Rescue.

Published About March 30th

509—Frank Merriwell's Encounter.

Published About April 20th

512—Dick Merriwell's Marked Money.

Published About May 11th

515—Frank Merriwell's Nomads.

Published About June 1st

518—Dick Merriwell on the Gridiron.

Published About June 22nd

521—Dick Merriwell's Disguise.

STREET & SMITH, Publishers, NEW YORK CITY