The Alamo got under way just as they finished lunch. Don excused himself from the table and stepped out onto the bridge deck. Charlie was at the controls, and Don took his place beside him. The wind shield was open. The salt air felt sweet and pleasant after the northern cold. As they crept away from the pier, Charlie gradually speeded up the cruiser. The land slipped along on the starboard side, and soon the Alamo was pushing her nose into the long rollers of the Gulf Stream. Whatever vexations the winter might have in store for Donald Buchanan, it was too late to turn back.
The others came out of the lounge, and Don heard Cornelia say she was going to lie down. The three men went back to the aft deck to smoke. Don refused the doctor’s invitation to join them with the excuse that he wanted to get some information about the power plant from Charlie. It was as good a time as any to put into effect his policy of keeping away from members of the Tuckerton family.
“Does the plant give you any trouble?” Don asked Charlie Means, when the others had gone.
“None at all, sir. It’s driven by two six cylinder engines. You really never need to look at it. It furnishes the houses with light and power—a hundred and ten volt direct current—and drives the pumping plant”
“For your water?”
“Yes, sir. But there is very little fresh water on the key. Mr. Tuckerton spent a lot of money sinking wells. One went down to a thousand feet, but the water was too brackish for drinking. We depend on the cisterns, and a tanker full of fresh water which is towed to the key every month. The pumping system hooks up with the tanker—”
“You’re well educated, aren’t you?” Don blurted out, without pausing to realize his rudeness. He was sorry as soon as he said it.
Charlie took his inscrutable gaze from the shimmering water ahead of them and looked at the boy oddly. Then he turned away again, leaving Don with an impression of indescribable sadness.
“Yes, sir.” He pointed to the right. “That’s Racoon Key over there. We head out around Snipe Key now and run due north until we are nearly off Knight’s. The channel’s hard to follow—if you don’t know the way.”
Donald respected Charlie’s desire to change the subject, and turned the conversation to the place which was to be his home for the winter. He learned many things about the key. The guide warmed up to his topic as soon as Don mentioned it Aided by an old Spanish map from the chart locker, and kindly explaining the meaning of the soft Spanish words, so unfamiliar to Don’s ears, he briefly outlined the history of the romantic islet which had become the winter playground of a millionaire.
The little coral eminence, not over twenty square miles in area, lay approximately fifty miles north of Key West. It was supposed to have been discovered in 1516, by Diego Miruelo, a Spanish explorer. De Soto was said to have stopped there also in his frantic search for gold in 1538, and to have called it Cayo Acorazonado—Key of the Heart Shape.
The name aptly described it, for its appearance on the map was that of a large heart, with the top to the north and the bottom to the south The British had later altered the name to Broken Heart Key, due to a large arm of water which extended two miles inland on the west side. This arm narrowed down from a mile across, at the estuary, to a thin stream disappearing into the mangrove swamp on the east shore of the key. The Spaniards had named the arm of water La Grieta—The Break. It was in The Break, which provided an excellent shelter against tropical storms, that Aaron’s boathouse and landing were built.
Another arm of the sea penetrated inland on the north end of the key. It was called El Hamo—The Fish Hook. It was deep enough to afford passage for a large vessel. The famous buccaneers, Morgan, and Edward Davis, had more than once found a hiding place in the snug cove at the end of El Hamo.
Close by El Hamo lay a narrow beach of lime and shell, almost pushed into the gulf by the encroaching jungle. It showed on the map as Costa de Oro—Gold Beach. Treasure hunters had pitted it liberally with their search before Aaron bought the island.
According to Charlie, the addition of the luxurious buildings on the Tuckerton estate, had only served, by contrast, to add to the wildness of the place. The jungle of buttonwood, ironwood, madeira, and a hundred other prolific growths, stretched implacably for three miles in back of the houses, ready to encompass them at the first signs of weakening in man’s eternal war against the wilderness. Turkey, quail, and myriad wild birds of brilliant plumage, found on the key a haven from the depredations of the hunter. Thick woods covered the northwest portion, and bore the sinister name of Panther Hammock. Donald was interested in the panthers.
“Are they dangerous?”
“Mostly in stories.” Charlie grinned. “There are very few left on the mainland—they are really a cougar, you know. The ones on Broken Heart get hungry once in a while and steal some chickens. I have never heard of them attacking a man. Still, you never know what a crazy cat will do.”
Beverly, Dr. Ames, and Brennan came forward from their smoke, and Donald ended his talk with Charlie. He went into the lounge, where he read until Brennan stuck his head in the door to say they were approaching the key.
It was a sight worth seeing—creaming breakers on the bar which guarded the entrance to The Break—the six
