AS the boys stood steaming by the fire, Ted using his wet handkerchief to clean the mud and slime from his trousers, more questions were asked, and in response to inquiry as to the present whereabouts of the hiding slackers, the negro said:
"Dey ain't come in yet. Some of 'em runnin' a deer and some gone to dey traps." July pointed to the skins hanging from grape-vines andbear-grassropes under the elevated house of logs and beneath a low shelter of thatched palmetto fans. "Dey in de trappin' business," he added.
At this moment some one was heard coming through the brush, singing in a peculiar childish voice: "Open the gates as high as the sky and let King George's army pass by."
"Dat's Billy," said July. "He ain't got good sense."
A barefoot young white man, roughly clothed, entered the clearing at a trot and ran up to thetwo boys. Fixing his eye on Ted, he inquired with a giggle, "What's your name?" When Ted had told him, he turned to Hubert with the same question. His hair was light in color and soft as a child's, but his face was wrinkled and wore a meaningless smile. His pale eyes were vacant yet restless.
"He's Sweet Jackson's nigger same as I'm Mr. Buck Hardy's," explained July, showing his white, even teeth. "I found him in yuh waitin' on Sweet when I come. But Mr. Hardy don't cuff me round de way Sweet do Billy.Hedon't think nothin' o' takin' a stick to dat half-witted boy when he git mad. It's scan'lous."
It appeared from July's remarks to Ted, while Billy still questioned Hubert, that "Sweet"—a curious illustration of the adhesiveness of Cracker nursery nicknames—was second only to Buck in importance and influence among the slackers. Yet Sweet was not liked, being often sullen and ill-tempered, while Buck, the "cock of the walk," a great stalwart fellow with a waste of muscle and a kindly disposition, was generally popular.
The tramp of approaching feet was now heard and July turned hurriedly to the fire, where hehad been frying cornbread. A heavy young man advanced out of the darkened woods, a rifle over his arm, followed by two other young men carrying a deer suspended from a stick which ran across their shoulders. Three dogs trotted into the fire-lit circle ahead of the hunting party. The two burdened men threw the deer down on a carpet of palmetto fans and at once began to skin it, merely glancing once or twice at the strange boys. The leading hunter, who, according to July's whisper, was Sweet Jackson, betrayed curiosity.
"Who-all's this?" he inquired gruffly, approaching the fire. "Billy, git me some water quick. Whur did you boys come from?"
Ted briefly explained, but Sweet Jackson did not appear to be quite satisfied, a gleam of suspicion showing in his eyes as they remained fixed upon Ted's uniform.
"What's them clothes you got on?" he asked, and when the boy had explained he was mysteriously informed in a voice suggestive of menace: "If they sent you in the Oke-fi-noke to find our camp and go back and tell 'em, they played thunder."
Another party of hunters now came out of the dark woods, exhibiting an otter skin as their single but valuable prize. Among these was Buck Hardy, who stood in the background only long enough to hear the outline of the boys' story and then approached them, his manner quite friendly.
"How you come on, boys?" he asked, extending his hand to Ted. "This one"—as he turned, smiling, to Hubert—"is as rosy as a little gal."
Hubert was highly indignant at this, but both he and Ted felt intuitively that the "cock of the walk" would prove their best friend in the camp. As he questioned them and appeared to be satisfied with their straightforward answers, they observed him narrowly. He was fully six feet tall and evidently an uncommonly muscular and powerful man. But what attracted the boys was his atmosphere of quiet resolution and the kindly expression of his eyes. They wondered that such a man, who looked brave if he was not, should be a hiding slacker.
Meanwhile July had been busy frying thin strips of fresh venison steak, and now announced that supper was ready. The slackers thereupontook their places round the fire, and the boys had abundant opportunity to study the faces of all—an inspection that, except in one or two instances, found little that was reassuring. Ted and Hubert were politely invited by Buck to join in the feast, but, having already eaten their fill, accepted only a cup of coffee.
The hapless Billy, who had taken the liberty of appeasing his hunger before supper was ready, now lay on the grass, reciting in a sort of sing-song: "Mena, mino, mo; ketch a nigger by the toe, if he hollers let him go." This was followed by: "Quemo, quimo, dilmo, day; rick, stick, pomididdle, dido—Sally broke the paddle over Mingo's head." The childish mind of the young man seemed to delight in nursery rhymes. He was beginning, "One-two, buckle my shoe—three-four, open the door," etc., when Sweet Jackson called his name roughly and sent him on an errand.
"What's the news about the war?" asked Buck Hardy of Ted, as the slackers lighted their pipes and settled into comfortable lounging positions about the fire.
Ted responded eagerly, describing the situation as he understood it and showing that the outlook was not as promising as it had been. He indicated that Russia had dropped out and was "no good any more," that Italy was hard pressed, that France was wearing out, and that England's safety was threatened by Germany's submarines.
"It depends on the United States," the boy declared. "We've got to end this war. We've got to be in a big hurry to put two million soldiers in the field, and every able-bodied young man is needed." Then, his zeal overcoming his prudence, he excitedly added: "I don't see how you men can stay here in this swamp at such a time. I—I—I'd beashamed!"
Buck Hardy winced. Sweet Jackson sat erect with a threatening look. The other slackers shifted their positions uneasily and frowned, some of them uttering low ejaculations of astonishment. July paused in his noisy scraping of a pot and stood at attention. Hubert nudged Ted warningly and urged him in a whisper to hold his tongue.
"Who's ashamed!" cried Sweet Jackson derisively. "I ain't, for one. 'Tain't none of myquiltin'. What them Germans ever done tome? I never heard tell of 'em till lately."
"You'll hear of 'em a plenty if they ever get this country," said Ted, shaking off Hubert's hand. The boy was too excited and eager to speak his mind to count the costs. "They'll rob you of every dollar, and if you don't walk the line they chalk you'll be shot in your tracks. They haven't had a chance yet to do anything toyou. The thing to think about is what they've done to other countries and what they intend to do to ours if they can. Do you want them to give Texas and a half dozen more States out that way to Mexico, as the Kaiser promised to do, if Mexico would help him conquer this country?"
"Texas is a fur ways, and big enough to take care of itself, too," said Sweet, serenely indifferent.
"That's a fine way to look at it!" Ted was quick to retort, scorn in his tone. "Will your right hand feel that way if somebody walks up and whacks off your left?"
"They could never do it," spoke up Buck Hardy quietly. "The Germans nor nobody else could ever take this country."
"That depends on what sort of a fight we put up and how quick we are about it," insisted Ted. "I read the papers a lot, and listen to men talk, too, and sometimes it looks as if even England may have to give in. If the Germans get England and the British fleet, what will happen then? Why, they'll get Canada, of course, and get ready to invade us anywhere across a three-thousand mile border line.Thenwe'll have it!"
"Canada and New York and Ohio and Chicago is a fur ways," remarked Sweet, yawning. "If the Germans do get 'em, what's that to us 'way down h-yuh?"
"What's that tousif the richest part of our country falls into the hands of the enemy!" cried Ted, losing his patience and with it all sense of prudence. "You make me sick. As I was about to say just now, it all depends on how many of us go out and fight and how many of us go and hide in a swamp."
Again Buck Hardy winced, and all the lounging slackers sat up, startled, staring at Ted as if scarcely able to believe that they had heard aright. As a general murmuring began, Sweet Jackson leaped to his feet.
"Billy, go get me a big switch," he ordered. "I've got to give that sassy boy a good frailin'. He's too big for his breeches. I aim to teach him a lesson right now."
"No, you won't," said Buck Hardy, who had also risen to his feet. "I like that boy. I like his spunk. And anybody who lays a hand on him has got me to whip. I put you all on notice," he concluded, turning from the furious but perceptibly checked Jackson and sweeping an eye over the seated slackers.
"Well, Buck Hardy," argued Sweet in a vain attempt to disguise his surrender, "if you're goin' to play the fool in this thing you'll be sorry."
"Aw, set down and let the boy talk," said Buck, resuming his own seat on the grass. "You don't have to agree with him. Let him talk; it's interestin'. Go on, kid."
But Ted seemed to think that he had said enough for the present, and for once he was not ready to speak. Buck Hardy himself broke the silence that followed.
"There's another thing I want to say," he announced. "I ain't in this swamp because I'm a-scared to fight. If they'd a let me alone, itwould a' been all right, but when they up and passed a force-law, draftin' everybody whether or no, I got mad."
Then Ted found his voice, opening his mouth to speak impetuously, but Hubert grabbed him by the arm to check him and this time the younger boy would not be denied.
"Hush!—don't!" Hubert whispered urgently. "Don't tell him he was free to enlist and try to put him in a hole. He's ourfriend."
Ted saw the force of this in time and shut off his coming flood words, saying only:
"I didn't think you were afraid, Mr. Hardy. And it is very good of you to be willing for me to speak out, and I thank you very much."
Then the "cock of the walk" himself seemed to think that it would be better to change the subject, for he began to speak about an interesting incident of the day's hunting. But the conversation soon dragged, the slackers yawning drowsily. One by one they rose and disappeared, until only Buck, Sweet and the two boys were left by the fire. Finally Sweet rose, saying:
"What you aim to do with them boys to-night, Buck? We got to keep our eye on them boys."
"They'll sleep with me," was the answer.
Shortly afterward Buck Hardy lighted a torch and bade the boys follow him. He led them beneath the curious log house standing so high in the air—a precaution against snakes in summer—and climbed by a ladder through a square opening in the floor. Passing the sleeping men, whose faces even in the case of the least pleasing seemed softened in slumber, Hardy led the way to the extreme end of the room. Giving the torch to Ted, he scattered and broadened his really comfortable bed of leaves and Spanish moss so as to make room for the two boys between himself and the wall. There appeared to be no window in all the structure, but apparently sufficient air entered between the logs of the walls and through the wide door in the floor.
After the light was put out Ted recalled Sweet Jackson's "We got to keep our eye on them boys," with its suggestion of possible captivity at least for a time; but both he and Hubert were too tired to speculate or worry about their situation, and they soon forgot everything in sound sleep.
WHEN Ted and Hubert awoke next morning they were alone in the sleeping-loft. Descending the ladder, they found July at the fire with breakfast awaiting them; and after they had washed their hands and faces, the negro pouring water for them, they ate heartily. It appeared that all but two or three of the slackers had already gone off to their traps, or hunting, and even these two or three were nowhere to be seen just now.
As the boys breakfasted, it was noticeable that July's manner toward Ted was markedly respectful and that his eye frequently rested upon the Boy Scout uniform. Suddenly the young negro stood still in front of Ted and thus addressed him:
"Hubut tole me las' night de President 'p'int you dispatch carrier. Did de President sen' you in dis swamp to git after dese slackers, too?"
"Of course not."
"Did Guv'nor Dorsey sen' you?"
"No."
"Did Judge Ridgway sen' you?"
"No."
"Den, how come you talk so uppity, like a man wid de law on he side and ain't a-scared o' nobody?"
"I don't know, July," replied Ted, amused, smiling, yet serious. "When I get started I'm so interested that I forget to be scared."
"Well, you sho is aman, if you is des a boy. You sho is a cap'n. Dey ought to call you 'Cap'n Ted.'" The young negro's wonder and admiration were manifest.
"That's very nice of you, July," stammered Ted, embarrassed and blushing.
"You sho did talk up to dem white mens. You didn't leave 'em a leg to stand on."
"How aboutyou?" asked Ted, with a twinkle in his eye. "Have you got any more legs than they have?"
July guffawed loudly, enjoying the joke at his own expense. "Who, me?" he laughed again. "I's ready to go to de waw if dey promus to put me where dem Germans can't p'int a gun at me."
Ted and Hubert laughed heartily, vastly amused, and the latter said: "Don't you think all slackers are as ready as that?"
"I got sump'n to tell you," said July, hastening to change an embarrassing subject. "Dem young white mens hole a meetin' dis mawnin' and dey voted on what to do about you boys. I couldn't hear much o' dey talk, but I think dey voted Mr. Buck Hardy down."
"But I thought you said he was the 'cock of the walk,' and he certainly stood them all down last night," commented Ted.
"He sho is de cock o' de walk when it come to fightin'," said July, "but when it come to votin' he ain't got but one vote. Hush! H-yuh he is now."
Buck Hardy had come out of the woods, and, pausing at the edge of the clearing, he now called Ted to him.
"Well, what you boys aim to do?" he asked in a friendly way, as Ted joined him.
"I'll tell you what I'dliketo do," said Ted earnestly, encouraged by his tone, "and that is, persuade you, and as many of the rest as I could, togo out of this swamp and be drafted for the war."
Buck Hardy laughed outright, but there was no unfriendliness in his merriment. "You've laid out to do a pretty big job of work, kid," he said; "most too big, I reckon. Better give it up. Better jes' stay h-yer a while with us and learn to hunt."
"I wouldn't mind staying a while if—if there was any chance of——"
"But there ain't, son; so you'd better not bother your head about it. And I reckon you'll have to put up with our company a while. We talked it over this mornin' and took a vote. We agreed when we come in h-yer to decide things by vote. I was for takin' you boys out to-day and puttin' you on the trail home, but the fellers wouldn't hear to it. Al Peters was the only one who agreed with me, andhewasn't willin' to let you boys go unless you promised on yer honor to say nothin' about us when you got home."
In great excitement Ted was about to declare that nothing could ever induce him to be silent in order to shield fugitive slackers, but Buck went on speaking before the imprudent words were uttered, and after reflection the boy decided that it would be wiser not to make such a declaration until he had to.
"You see," Buck continued, "the boys is afraid the sheriff will send a posse in h-yer and take us out and prosecute us. So there's nothin' for you and Hubert to do but stay h-yer a while and get all the fun you can. Maybe I can win the boys over to my thinkin' in a week's time. I'll try. The truth is, I don't think there's very much danger in letting you go even if you did tell on us, for there's too much goin' on now for the county to take the trouble to send a posse away in this swamp jes' to get eight men drafted. But the boys has voted and it stands, as I tell you. I want to say another thing, kid," added Buck, after a slight pause: "I want you to feel free, and I like to hear you talk about the war, but you must be careful not to step on the boys' toes too hard. I don't want a fight on my hands."
"I hardly know what to say—I'll have to think," said Ted, lifting his troubled eyes to the big slacker's face; "but I'm very much obliged toyou, Mr. Hardy. I think you are just splendid, even if you are a——"
The boy stopped, confused, dropping his eyes.
"That's all right, kid," said Buck, patting Ted's shoulder in a kindly way. "Now you just go and enjoy yourself, and maybe everything will come out all right."
Buck Hardy turned abruptly and swung off into the woods. Ted returned slowly to the fire, where, with a very serious face, he announced to Hubert the fact of their captivity. The younger boy's grip on his lachrymal ducts was never firm and the tears now ran down his cheeks in a steady stream as he sat on the grass by silent Ted.
"I want to go home," he wailed.
"I think dat's a shame," said July, promptly taking the side of the boys.
"Don't cry, Hu," said Ted. "It will come out all right. We'll stay a while, and then if they don't let us go, we'll run away and go anyhow."
"Maybe I kin help you git off," proposed July, standing in front of the seated boys, his black face full of sympathy. "If I kin, I will. But you mustn't tell dem white mens on me."
The half-witted Billy now appeared from the direction of the boat-landing, and, seeing Hubert's tears, he seemed to be much concerned. He hadtaken a fancy to Hubert. Dropping into a seat by the grieving boy, he put a hand on his knee and asked indignantly:
"Who been whippin' you?"
"Nobody. It isn't that."
"Well, don't cry. If you don't cry, maybe I'll take you to see son."
"You haven't a son!" said Hubert, smiling through his tears.
"Wait till I show him to you, and you'll see."
"Who is he?" asked Hubert, drying his eyes.
"Never you mind," answered Billy, his sudden look of cunning losing itself in an explosion of mirth. "You'll find out when I take you to him. You'll know him when you see him."
After this cryptic announcement Billy would say no more about his "son" and sought to entertain Hubert with recitations of nursery rhymes.
The boys lounged about the camp for an hour, discussing their situation in low asides while intermittently conversing with July and Billy. Then Buck Hardy reappeared and began to talk amicably with Ted and Hubert about hunting, evidently trying to interest them in sport. He told them that he and his associates depended moreon their traps than on their guns in their business of securing salable pelts, stating that many traps had been set here and there on the island and in the surrounding swamp. It was while this conversation was in progress that Sweet Jackson entered the clearing and called out:
"You goin' to use July this mornin', Buck?"
"Not partic'lar," was the indifferent response.
"Well, I can use him and I'd like to borry him. I'm goin' to build me a permeter shelter for my own hides, so I kin spread 'em out more."
Buck having consented and turned again to the boys, the "borrowed" July, much disgusted, was led away in company with Billy. The business required of them was the cutting down of one six-inch sapling for posts and several two-inch saplings wherewith to frame the slanting roof which these posts would support. This done, they must gather hundreds of palmetto fans and thatch the roof, all under the direction of an ill-tempered boss.
The three had been thus engaged scarcely half an hour when Buck, Ted and Hubert, at the camp, heard screams and the sound of blows. A few steps toward the spot selected for the palmettoshelter revealed the cause of the uproar. Sweet Jackson was whipping Billy with a long supple stick, and, as he laid on more heavily, in spite of his victim's piteous cries, the boys drew near in horror, followed more slowly by Buck.
"Stop that!" shouted Ted.
"Oh, it's you, Mr. Smarty!" said Sweet, pausing to look up. "I won't stop till I git ready, and if you don't keep your mouth shut, I'll wallop you in the bargain."
"You coward!" cried Ted. "You ought to be ashamed to beat that poor half-witted——"
Sweet suddenly let Billy go and turned upon Ted with uplifted stick.
"Hit him if you dare!" said Buck, stepping up to them.
"'Tain't none o' your business, Buck Hardy!" cried Sweet, furious.
"It's everybody's business when you jump on that poor boy Billy. You know he ain't accountable."
"I reckon I've got a right to thrash him if he won't work. I kin hardly make him lift his hand to do a thing, and when he does work he works so powerful sorry——"
"I thought you was more of a man, Sweet Jackson."
"I depend I'm man enough to give you all you want!" shouted the infuriated Jackson, with a threatening movement.
Buck caught one end of the uplifted stick; it broke between them and they closed in hand-to-hand combat. Apparently they were well matched physically and the fight promised to be a long one. As Ted and Hubert watched it, absorbed, July stepped between them and whispered:
They closed in hand-to-hand combat
"If you boys want to try to run away, now de time! Nobody in camp but dem two fightin' mens. If you git dem boats, maybe you kin git away. You kin take two boats and I kin hide t'other one, and den dey can't foller you."
"Yes, let's run down to the boats," agreed Hubert. "Come on! I want to get away from this place!"
Hubert had already moved to follow the negro, but Ted hesitated. He did not like to run away while Buck was fighting in his cause as well as Billy's, and the fight itself drew his eye compellingly. Moreover, he really preferred to stay at least a day or two and look for opportunities totalk further to the slackers about the war and their duty. And when they did run away, he thought they ought to make careful plans beforehand, providing themselves with food for the journey, for one thing.
But Hubert and July, who were now twenty feet away, beckoned him frantically, and, thus urged, Ted reluctantly followed. The three then raced on their way, pursued by the now smiling Billy who apparently thought that some sort of game was proposed. Passing the camp fire, July caught up a tin bucket of sliced venison, then darted along the winding path through the swamp cane toward the boat landing.
Racing along this same path a few moments later, Ted and Hubert halted suddenly at sight of the negro returning.
"De boats all gone," announced July. "Dem mens must 'a took 'em to go to dey traps in de swamp."
Ted did not share Hubert's deep disappointment and smiled at the giggling Billy in the moment of blank pause.
"Let's hurry back, then," he said, breaking the silence, "so they won't know what we tried to do."
The run to the boat landing and back, a distance of little more than two hundred yards, had scarcely consumed five minutes, and the four spectators were again on the scene of the fight before the combatants had noticed their absence. They were just in time to see Sweet Jackson strike the ground heavily beneath the weight of his antagonist, who now partly rose, placing his knee upon the breast of the vanquished.
"You got enough?" shouted Buck. "If you ain't, say so, and I'll give you a whole bellyful."
Sweet said nothing, but ceased to struggle, whereupon Buck let go his hold and rose.
"I'll git even with you yet, Buck Hardy," declared the defeated man with black looks after he had painfully gathered himself up and was limping off into the woods.
The victor disdained a retort, and, turning, walked back to the camp, where he was followed by the boys and the negro. At the noon hour Sweet Jackson had not reappeared and it was evident that the work on his "permeter" shelter would not be resumed that day.
Assured of this by the time dinner had been served and his subsequent work about the camphad been finished, July proposed a job of another kind.
"Mr. Hardy," he said, "kin I take Cap'n Ted wid me to build dat turkey pen dis evenin' an' lef' Hubut yuh to play wid Billy?"
"Sure—if he wants to go," consented Buck. "I think I'll take 'em both on a deer hunt tomorrow."
On their way to the selected site of the turkey pen, about half a mile away in the pine woods near the border of the swamp, July broke a brief silence as follows:
"A colored lady tole me dem Germans eats people. You reckon dat's so?"
"Of course not," said Ted, "but they've done things in this war just as bad."
Having arrived at the chosen spot and cleared a space about six feet square, July dug a trench from its center to a point some four feet without, baited it with shelled corn and bridged it over with sticks. He then cut down a number of pine saplings and employed sections of these in building a pen about four feet high around the cleared space, afterward covering the top with sections of the same and weighting them down with heavy"lightwood knots." Lastly a few grains of corn were dropped at intervals from the mouth of the tunnel to a point several yards distant, so that wild turkeys feeding in that neighborhood would be attracted toward the snare. July explained that when these wild fowl entered by way of the tunnel and ate up the bait they would merely struggle to break through the well-lighted cracks of the trap, forgetting entirely the shadowed path to freedom at their feet.
As he worked, receiving some assistance from the interested boy, the negro talked and asked questions about other matters.
"When de time come for you boys to run away," he said once, "maybe I'll go wid you."
"That would be fine," said Ted, "because you could show us the way."
"I gittin' tired o' dis job yuh in dis camp," July continued. "Dem white mens don't pay me all dey promus, and I don't like de way some of 'em cusses me aroun', speshly dat Sweet Jackson. Mr. Hardy pay me his part, but he can't collec' a cent o' my money fum some of 'em. If it wasn't for dat waw, I'd go out o' dis swamp wid you tomorrow. Cap'n Ted, if I was to go out wid you,you reckon dem draft-bode people would grab me right up an' sen' me to de waw?"
"They'd examine you and might send you to a training camp, and you might even go to France," answered Ted, "but I don't think they'd ever put you on the fighting line. You see, in this big war there's a lot to do besides fighting and the thing is to find out what a man can do best. They might just make you a cook behind the lines, and pay you wages, too."
"Gee! dat 'ud suit me grand," cried July joyfully. "I'd love to cross de big water an' see all dere is to see—if only dey don't put me where dem Germans kin shoot me. You think I kin 'pend on dat, Cap'n Ted?"
"I don't know for certain, July, but I think so."
When they turned up at camp toward sundown, it was evident from their faces that both Ted and July were in a hopeful frame of mind. The one was glad because he had made two useful friends in a single day; the other was elated because he indulged in dreams of securing war adventure without incurring the risk of war's penalties.
TED hoped that the war would be discussed around the camp fire that night, but he was disappointed. Sweet Jackson turned up only in time to eat his supper and went immediately to bed. The other men appeared to be unusually tired and followed as soon as they had smoked a single pipe. Nevertheless Ted was nearer his heart's desire than he supposed.
About two o'clock in the morning a large animal prowled into or near the camp, doubtless attracted by the refuse of the deer's carcass; and all hands were roused by the furious baying of the dogs. Snatching up their guns, the slackers to the last man sallied out and followed in pursuit. Billy ran after them, and Ted, Hubert and July were left standing over the fire, now stirred to a bright blaze.
The eager hunters were hardly two hundred yards away when Hubert looked across the fire at Ted and said:
"Now's our chance to get off in the boats. We could do it—if July would go with us. You said he was thinking of it."
"Yes, I been thinkin' 'bout it," admitted July, his manner doubtful and hesitating, "but on account o' dat waw I ain't made up my mind yit."
"And, anyhow, in the middle of the night is a bad time," said Ted. "We're not ready either."
At this moment they heard the sound of footsteps and a voice shouted: "Buck says you boys come, too, and see the fun. And, July, you better bring some vittles."
The young man who had hurriedly returned on this errand had halted as soon as he was within call, and now waited impatiently to be joined by the boys and the negro, evidently afraid that he might miss seeing the game run to earth. His "Hurry up" was so frequent and so insistent that the boys joined him without a moment's delay and July, shaking his head, followed without the "vittles."
The cause of the excitement, which proved to be a bear, had beaten a hasty retreat toward the center of the island, and there, being hard pressed by the dogs, climbed a tall pine. By the timethe hunters reached the spot the animal was at rest among the clustering boughs at the very top. Nothing could be done now until daylight, and the men proceeded to make themselves comfortable. Several fires were built, forming a circle around the tree, in order to make sure that the bear would remain where it was in case the watchers should fall asleep.
Then July and two men were sent back to camp to bring food and corn beer of the slackers' own brewing. The besiegers threw themselves down in comfortable, lounging attitudes around the largest fire and were disposed to have a merry time during the three hours of waiting. Ted and Hubert seated themselves on the grass near Buck Hardy and watched with absorbed attention all that took place. The treeing of a bear in a tall pine at such a time of night was remarked upon as a very unusual occurrence, and several declared that they had never seen the like.
"I tell you the old Oke-fi-noke is the place to run up on curious things," said Buck Hardy musingly, after the men sent to camp had returned with their loads. "I've seen a heap o' strange things in this swamp. I reckon you boys wouldn'tbelieve me if I was to tell you I saw a catfish whip a moccasin in h-yer one time."
The men laughed incredulously, but demanded the particulars. Buck took a drink of corn beer from a gourd passed him by July, and then asked his nearest neighbor, Al Peters, for "a chaw o' tobacco," before he proceeded to satisfy their curiosity by telling his story. It was, in substance, that he had once seen a moccasin spring upon a catfish in a shallow lagoon of the swamp and promptly get "whipped." That is to say, disastrous consequences resulted from the snake's attempt to swallow its prey. For the fish immediately "popped" its formidable fins through the reptile's throat, and all efforts on the part of the latter to disgorge its victim proved futile.
"That moccasin reared mightily and was as lively a snake as you ever laid eyes on," Buck declared with a laugh, "but it bit off more'n it could chaw that time."
He wound up by saying that the snake crawled off rapidly out of sight; but several hours later, returning past the same neighborhood, he found it lying dead, the tail of the fish still protruding from its mouth and the fins visibly transfixing itsneck. Finding that the catfish was still alive, Buck took the trouble of liberating it, then watched it revive in its native element and finally swim away in the lagoon.
Buck's listeners had expected a jest, but they seemed to accept the story as matter of fact—no one presuming to give expression to doubts, if any were felt. This was the beginning of much spinning of Okefinokee yarns, some of them even more remarkable. Finally Buck turned to Ted and said:
"Well, kid, what's the strangest thing you've seen in the Oke-fi-noke?"
The boy would have liked to reply that the strangest, most unaccountable, most infamous sight he had seen in the great swamp was a party of able-bodied young men who, instead of serving their country by training to fight the Germans, were deliberate and confessed slackers and fugitives from the law of the land. But he hesitated to go so far and only said:
"I haven't seen as much of it as the rest of you, but the strangest story about it I ever heard was the one my Uncle Walter said the Indians used to tell a hundred years ago."
"Let's hear it," invited several.
So Ted related the old Indian legend which pictured the remote interior of the Okefinokee as a high and dry land, and one of the most blissful spots of earth, where dwelt beautiful women called daughters of the Sun. Some warriors of the Creek nation, lost in the interminable bogs and jungles, and confronted with starvation and despair, were once on a time rescued and lovingly cared for by these radiant creatures. And ere the lost warriors were led out of the confusing labyrinths and sent on their way, they were fed bountifully with dates, oranges, and corn-cake. There may have been other good things to eat, but Ted's memory could vouch only for the dates, oranges, and corn-cake. He remembered that his uncle had spoken skeptically about the dates and disrespectfully of the corn-cake, which latter, though a good and useful thing in its way, was too "common" for celestial ladies who, in all other tales of the same type, were in the habit of feeding on ambrosia. Uncle Walter conceded, however, that the maize was probably regarded by the Creek Indian as one of the most precious gifts of the gods and, therefore, not unworthy of aplace in this legend of the daughters of the Sun who dwelt in the great Okefinokee.
This story, with Judge Ridgway's comment added, was over the heads of the uneducated young backwoodsmen who listened with heavy gravity, but several of them expressed polite appreciation of it and spoke in complimentary terms of Ted's recital.
The fires were now replenished, more corn-beer was imbibed, fresh pipes were lighted, and the yarn-spinners began another series devoted to the "tight scrapes" in which they had found themselves occasionally in the Okefinokee. One young man told of a deadly hand-to-hand conflict with a wounded bear; another of a thrilling unarmed fight with a wild-cat; a third related how he had once sunk down suddenly to his armpits in the great marsh called the "prairie," how he had saved himself by grasping the growth on a small tussock, and how he was confronted there, before he could drag himself out, by an angry moccasin, which luckily he shot. And so on.
When this yarn-spinning began to languish for lack of startling material, Buck Hardy asked Ted if he did not have something interesting to tellabout his and Hubert's struggles on their way through the swamp to the island. In relating the Indian legend Ted had kept his seat on the grass, but now, as if accepting this invitation, he rose to his feet, his eye sweeping the faces of the eight assembled young "backwoods Crackers," all evidently more or less ignorant and uneducated, and—as Ted thought—sorely in need of instruction, especially on the subject of the great war. Some of them had read a weekly paper occasionally, but most of them had not even availed themselves of that limited source of information. This Ted knew from inquiries he had made. Did this not account, at least in part, for their indifference, and if they were told more about the war, might it not be possible to wake them up? Thus Ted had reasoned as he sat listening, observing and awaiting his opportunity.
"Gentlemen," he politely began, "what happened to us coming through the swamp is hardly worth telling about. I'd much rather talk about the greatest and most terrible war in history, and I hope you are willing. For everything—the whole world's future as well as our own country's safety—depends on the way it ends. I don'tthink you know enough about it. If you did, you wouldn't be here to-night. You would be in the training camps wearing the soldier's uniform."
"Shut up!"
The voice was Sweet Jackson's, and his demand was echoed by several others.
"No, don't shut him up," shouted Buck Hardy. "Let him talk.I'mnot afraid to listen to him. I'm man enough to know my business and stick to it even if a boy who can talk fine does come along. Go on, kid."
This quelled the disturbance, and Ted continued:
"This war's got to end in complete victory for the United States and her allies, for if the Germans win, they will ride over us all rough-shod and make us no better than slaves, just as they have done in Belgium and wherever they have marched their armies. We must win, as the President says, so that the world can be made safe for Christian ideals and for democracy."
"Stop a minute, kid," said Buck. "You are handin' out some pretty big words. I reckon we all know what Christian means, but a bunch of us may not be quite so sure about 'de-mocracy.'"
"Democracy," explained Ted, "is free government by and for the people, instead of high-and-mighty government by one man like the German Kaiser. You will see better what we'll be up against if the Germans get this country," the boy continued, "if I tell you about some of the things they have done and some of the things they want to do. After training for this war fifty years, they jumped on Europe, taking everybody by surprise. They have already conquered Belgium, Servia and Rumania, and they hold northern France, part of Russia and part of Italy. They want to take all the rest of Europe and then conquer the United States. They have said so. Some of 'em even say they ought to force the German language as well as German rule on the world, and they are so crazy with conceit that they say they have a right to do so because they are so much finer people than the people of other countries. Some of them even claim that the Germans have been divinely appointed to rule all nations."
"A little bit stuck on themselves, ain't they?" interjected Buck derisively.
"Why, I read," continued Ted, "of how one oftheir big preachers told his congregation: 'The German soul is God's soul; it shall and will rule over mankind.' And the Kaiser talks about 'the German God.'"
"You reckon they're such blame' fools as all that?" questioned Al Peters doubtfully.
"Germany is a fur ways and tales are pretty apt to grow as they travel," remarked a young man known as "Bud" Jones. "I know how a tale can grow in ten miles, let alone all the way across the ocean. It puts me in mind of the time Wash' Johnson was up before court."
Jones then related with humorous exaggerations how the story of a very small offense, on its eventful and roundabout journey "from Possum Trot to Crossways," became almost a murder in the first degree. "And when all the truth came out," he concluded, "there was jes'nothin'to it."
Several others recalled amusing anecdotes illustrating the powers of a rumor to expand enormously as it passed from mouth to mouth, and the effect was such that poor Ted saw his opportunity disappear for the time. He was too inexperienced a speaker to find a way to regain command of the situation, but he made an effort. Hewas further embarrassed as he took note that clumps of palmettos and scrub-oak thickets under the tall pines were becoming clearly outlined at a distance from the dying fires, showing that day had dawned and the time left him was short.
"But I haven't told youanythingyet," he insisted, as soon as he was able to put in a word. "And it's alltrue. Our ambassadors and consuls and big men who have come back from Europe say the Germans have said and done even worse things than have been reported. If you would just let me tell you some of the things I know——"
"Can't be done now, kid; it's daylight," interrupted Buck Hardy, moving to rise and looking around into the woods from which the darkness was rapidly lifting.
All the loungers about the fire now sprang to their feet, turning their eyes toward the top of the pine wherein the bear had taken refuge, and noisily proposing to be the first to bag the game. As soon as there was sufficient light to outline the black bulky form among the high branches, the men opened fire, one at a time, and at the thirteenth shot the big game came tumbling down, striking the ground with great force.
"I got him!" insisted several voices, but of course there was no means of determining which was the fatal shot.
The bear measured seven inches across the ball of the foot, three inches through the fat on the round, and the total weight was calculated at not less than four hundred pounds. The hide was carefully taken off and some pounds of the choicest meat were sliced to dry, but the bulk of the carcass was left where it was for the buzzards.
"I wish it could be shipped to the starving Belgians," said Ted, as he looked on, sorrowing to think of such waste at a time when economy and careful conservation of all food were urged upon the whole nation.
But nobody paid any attention to him, merriment and care-free indifference being the dominant note of the moment. When the sun was an hour high all hands, in great good humor, returned to camp and, to the accompaniment of boastful hunting stories, partook heartily of the hot breakfast which by this time July had prepared.
AFTER breakfast had been eaten and the eight slackers had scattered, going about the day's business, Ted sat disconsolately by the camp fire, watching July as he "cleared up" and talking intermittently with Hubert about the incidents of the night.
"I'm afraid I can't do anything with those slackers," said Ted, his tone as well as his words indicating great discouragement. "I thought I might be able to wake them up, but——"
"Well, you put up a good talk anyhow," said Hubert, frankly outspoken, as usual, in his admiration of Ted's oratorical powers, adding, however, with his habitual pessimism: "But I knew it wouldn't do any good. What dotheycare? All they want to do is to look out for number one."
At this moment Billy trotted out of the woods and called Hubert aside. The half-witted young man leaned toward Hubert and said to him in alow voice, with the air of one conferring a priceless favor:
"Would you like to come now and see son?"
"Who is 'son'?" asked Hubert skeptically yet curiously. "Yes, I'd like to see him."'
"Come on, then."
Ted had fallen into troubled revery and July was engaged in vigorously scraping one of his pots, so neither took note of Hubert's departure in the company of the half-wit.
Billy, who had fished out of his pocket a small wriggling water frog and carried it in his hand, led the way through the woods about a quarter of a mile, halting at last near the clay-covered roots of a large pine that had fallen during a wind storm. At the base of this was a small round hole in the ground, beside which Billy fell on his knees and began repeating in a strange, monotonous, coaxing voice:
"Doodle, doodle, come out your hole! Doodle, doodle, come out your hole!"
As he heard the mystic words supposed to be potent to call forth from ambush the ant-lion, which crafty insect prepares over its nest a kindof pitfall for ants, Hubert stepped back, protesting:
"You know that's too big for a doodle-hole; that's a snake's hole."
Billy made no reply, continuing his recitation.
"I hear him a-comin'," he said softly, at last. Then, in a gentle, caressing voice, he called down the hole: "Come on, son; come on, son."
In a few moments a large rattlesnake glided out of the hole and seized the frog from Billy's fingers. Hubert backed rapidly away and sprang upon a log, but Billy did not move from his place and betrayed no fear whatever.
"Come away from there!" cried Hubert in amazement. "You Billy—that snake will bite you!"
"Son won't bite me," replied Billy, confidently. "Son knows me. Don't be a-scared, boy; son won't hurt you if I tell him not to."
So this was "son"—the great mystery which poor Billy had seemed so to delight in!
"If you don't come away, I won't stay here," cried Hubert urgently.
He was alarmed for Billy's safety, fearing that as soon as the frog had been swallowed the reckless half-wit would be bitten. He thought he ought to look for a big stick and try to kill the snake, but made no move to do so, fearing the consequences of resistance from Billy.
After protesting and begging for some time in vain, Hubert jumped down from the log and hurried back to camp. By the time he had told the story to Ted and July, the witless snake-charmer himself appeared unhurt.
"Lem me tell you one thing, Hubut," cautioned July: "you let dat Billy hoe his own row. Play wid him roun' dis camp, but don't go foolin' long wid him in dese woods. He ain't got good sense, and he'll git you in trouble sho's you born."
"He ought to be in a sanitarium," said Ted.
"Look yuh, Billy," cried July, as the half-wit approached, "ain't you got no better sense'n to prodjick wid a rattlesnake dat-a way?"
"What made you tell?" asked Billy reproachfully of Hubert.
"Dat snake goin' to bite you an' kill you," July warned urgently.
"Don't you fret," said Billy, giggling. "Son knows me."
Ted was reminded of the old saying thatProvidence takes care of fools and drunken men, but he also spoke in rebuke and warning, whereupon the disgusted Billy took himself off.
"Cap'n Ted, you want to go fishin' wid me dis mawnin'?" asked July, and the boy promptly accepted the invitation.
The negro explained that Buck Hardy was willing for Ted to go if Hubert would stay around the camp and play with Billy. Apparently it was not as yet thought advisable to permit the two boys to go off on an excursion together, but no danger of attempted flight on the part of either was feared while they were separated.
"I don't want to 'play with Billy,'" protested Hubert indignantly. "But you go ahead, Ted, if you want to. I'll stay around camp. I want to look over that old paper and then take a nap. I'm sleepy—after last night."
So July got ready his fishing tackle and bait, and Ted followed him down to the landing. They took the smallest boat and, paddling and poling, slowly made their way against the usual obstructions toward a small lake in the flooded jungle to the right of the great marsh or "prairie."
After nearly an hour of hard work theyreached their destination and threw out their lines, baited with wriggling worms, which, according to July, the black bass or "trout" often took "as fas' as you kin throw in." This morning, however, they appeared to be less hungry, and the fishermen waited some time for even a "bite," talking in low voices the while. During the hour that followed Ted caught one three-pounder and July landed two others not quite as large. July considered this very poor luck and complained that the catch was not "half a mess." It was time to return to camp, however, and they reluctantly drew in their lines.
As they were following the boat-trail back to the island, Ted, who had brought his gun, stood up now and then and looked searchingly around, hoping to see something to shoot. In this way he caught sight of a flock of ducks swimming about in a little open pool to their left. He was quick to fire both barrels, the shock almost causing him to lose his equilibrium and tumble overboard. And when, with a great splashing and fluttering the flock rose, three ducks were left floating on the water. The boy shouted in his delight.
"We'll have enough duck, if not enough fish," he said.
"If we kin git 'em," said July doubtfully.
A hard struggle resulted in bringing the bateau only within about twenty feet of the spot, and there it stalled, the crowding obstructions being apparently insurmountable. July reluctantly gave up, declaring that they would have to let the ducks "go." But tenacity of purpose was one of Ted's chief characteristics and he would not give up. His hunter's pride demanded the game and, besides, he insisted that it would never do to permit so much good food to be wasted.
It was a warm spring day, and, putting his hand into the water, Ted found it to be only agreeably cool. His decision was instantly made: he would have those ducks if he had to swim for them. Deaf to July's urgent warnings of the danger of alligators, moccasins, and what not, he stripped to his shoes, and stepped out of the boat, surprised to find the water deeper than he had expected.
In addition to standing trees and shrubs of many sorts and sizes, the flooded swamp at this point was crowded with sunken logs, deadbranches and here and there a dense growth of flags. But Ted, wading, slipping, falling, swimming, and battling manfully with the various difficulties, finally reached the goal and held in his grasp a foot of each of the three floating ducks. It was only when he turned to come back with his prizes that he became seriously embarrassed. He then stumbled, fell, and, as if his feet were caught or entangled in the sunken obstructions, failed to regain his upright position. His head even disappeared under the water, and it looked to July as if he had been drawn under by some unseen force.
Fortunately the bateau, now lightened of a part of its load, drew less water, and could be forced forward with less difficulty. Exerting all his powers, the terrified negro made rapid headway and came to the rescue in time. While the struggling Ted still managed to hold his breath, he was seized, drawn out of the water, and lifted over the side of the boat, laughing as he kicked from him a mass of swamp weeds and mossy rotting branches in which his feet had been entangled. His body showed several red scratches,and he knew he had had a narrow escape, but he had succeeded and was happy.
"I got 'em!" he shouted triumphantly. Then, sobering, he gratefully thanked the negro for his timely intervention and listened in a becoming manner to the scolding his recklessness invited.
"Git on your clothes quick," urged July. "I was most scared to death, you see me so. I wouldn't 'a' had you drownd-ed for a thousand dollars. Mr. Hardy sho would tan my hide if I was to take you back to camp drownd-ed. He think a heap o' you, Cap'n Ted. Dem yuther white mens all time complainin' 'bout you, but he shut 'em up an' tell 'em he sho aim to stan' by you."
"I think he's just fine—if he is in with a bad crowd."
"He sho is de bes' man o' de whole bunch."
"Maybe he didn't understand that he could have volunteered freely and enlisted in some branch of the service before he was drafted," suggested Ted. "That's the only way I can explain it."
"Maybe so," assented July, adding with a shrewd shake of the head: "But you better not push him too hard, Cap'n Ted."
After the noon meal at the camp Buck Hardy kept his promise and took the two boys on a deer hunt. This was a more easy and comfortable expedition that Ted had expected. It was merely a matter of waiting and watching at a "stand" until there was a chance to shoot at a deer running by. The "still hunt" method, with its wearying efforts to sneak watchfully through the woods without making the slightest noise, was not attempted. Buck prepared only for a "deer drive." He first dispatched July with the dogs to the south end of the island, which was about four miles long, instructing him to go quietly with the dogs in leash. At the south end he was to untie them and start them running northward. Meanwhile, after giving the boys shells containing buck-shot, the "cock of the walk" leisurely selected a promising "stand" for each and took one for himself along the backbone of the island at the upper end.
The boys were instructed not to fire too quickly and be careful to take good aim. They at first waited and watched in great excitement, expecting every minute to have their first chance to bag noble game; then they calmed down and began to wonder if anything was really going to happen;and at last they looked wearily down the aisles of the open pine woods, their enthusiasm fast waning.
In due time the distant baying of the dogs was heard, the sound drew nearer, and after a long while their loud yelping plainly showed that, though unseen by the boys, they were running past the immediate neighborhood. Later July himself was heard coming, his voice lifted in tirelessrepetitionof a brief, chant-like sing-song of barbaric African origin, which rang pleasingly through the woods. But no frightened leaping deer was seen, and not a shot broke upon the air of the balmy afternoon. Then, finally, came Buck himself, to tell the boys, in great disappointment, that no game had been beaten out of the brush, and that it was all over for the time.
"I reckon they are off feedin' in the swamp shallows to-day," he said.
By the time the slackers had lit their pipes around the camp fire that night Ted had recovered from his disappointment and he casually remarked that, after all, he was glad they didn't get a deer.
"Did you hear what that boy said?" asked Al Peters, laughingly drawing general attention to Ted.
"Of course, I would have enjoyed it," the boy explained, "but we don't need it for food, July says—I asked him—and it's a great pity to waste even an ounce of meat at such a time. The President and Mr. Hoover have asked everybody not to waste a scrap of food and not to eat any more than is actually necessary."
"Well, I'll be dog-on!" exclaimed Bud Jones, and the slackers in general looked their astonishment.
They had grown up to lavish feeding and wasteful methods in the handling of food. They had never heard of anything else, except perhaps in the case of some "triflin'" white man too lazy to work or some poor negro in rags, and they wondered that such "meanness" could be recommended by the President of the United States. Some of them were even inclined to doubt Ted's word. There was a suggestion of scorn in Al Peters' tone as he asked:
"What for?—for goodness' sake!"
"Why, to stave off famine, or near-famine," explained Ted. "We've got to help feed our allies in Europe as well as ourselves. They are too busy fighting to be able to raise their usualcrops and their supplies from other countries are cut very short. I read not long ago that the German submarines had sent three million pounds of bacon and four million pounds of cheese to the bottom of the sea in a single week."
At this the uneducated young backwoodsmen who had been in hiding since the late spring of 1917 opened their eyes, several of them repeating the figures in astonishment.
"I heard tell of them submarines," one of them remarked. "They sneaks up on ships and shoots 'em from under the water."
"But why don't our people and our friends over the big water get after them sneakin' things and knock 'em out and stop it?" asked Bud Jones.
"We are doing all we can, and we are really doing a lot," said Ted. "Mr. Edison is working night and day on inventions and our destroyers are hunting submarines all the time, and they and the English destroyers bag a lot of them, too. They drop tremendous explosives where they see bubbles and it tears the submarine to pieces. But the Germans keep on building them very fast."
With an oath Buck Hardy expressed the earnest wish that "every one of them devilish water-snakes" might be blown up. Ted assured him that such a wish was very generally shared, remarking further in his own boyish way that German submarines were hated in America all the more because they virtually made war on the United States long before an actual and formal state of war existed. Then, returning to the subject under discussion, he added:
"You see, there's nothing in history like this thing that has come upon the world. This great war touches everybody and everything, and we've all got to help in some way."
"Now he's got on the war again!" exclaimed Sweet Jackson, rising to his feet. "If you men had sense enough to listen to me, you'd shut him up."
Without waiting for a response the most unpopular member of the camping party spat in his disgust and walked off toward the sleeping loft.
"We've all got to help in some way," repeated Ted, taking no notice of the interruption,—"either by fighting, giving money, making munitions, supplying brains or skilled labor, raising crops, or by saving food. It's got to be done, or there's no telling what may happen."
The boy was again advancing upon dangerous ground and a disturbed atmosphere was at once perceptible. The slackers were beginning to realize that the war was a bigger thing and much more exacting in its demands than they had supposed. But they had chosen their course and they did not wish to be reminded that duty called them. They shifted their positions uneasily, yawned, spoke of other things, remarked that they were sleepy, and one by one rose to their feet. Within a couple of minutes they had followed Sweet Jackson, only Buck Hardy, July and the two boys remaining by the fire.
The big slacker kept Ted there for an hour longer, asking questions and listening to the boy's replies. He seemed to forget to be ashamed of his ignorance in his eagerness for the latest information. Hubert said little and July said nothing, the eyes of both traveling back and forth from the face of Buck to the face of Ted and often betraying admiration for the latter.
"You certainly put up a good talk," said Hubert, as the boys lay down to sleep, and this time he even forgot to add: "But it won't do any good."