Evidently Phil was not so very much surprised after all, at this formidable announcement on the part of the boy with the sallow face. Perhaps he had even suspected something of the kind for quite a little time back. At least such a thing would account for the way in which he had been leading Tony along, until he unwittingly, in defending his father, gave his secret away.
From the look on his face it seemed as though the boy half feared that these new friends would turn against him when they learned how McGee was his father. He was therefore considerably surprised to have Phil reach out, and grasp his hand in a warm clutch.
"You knew my name as soon as you heard it, Tony," he said, with a smile that went straight to the heart of the ragged lad. "And ever since you've been trying to get me to give up this mission of mine. It tells me that you've already begun to think something of Phil Lancing. And it encourages me to think your father will do the same, after he gets to know me."
But Tony shook his head, as if in great doubt.
"Oh! if you knowed just how he's come to hate that name, you wouldn't dast let him see yuh," he said. "All sorts o' things has been told 'bout how your dad meant tuh chase weuns off'n his land. Some even says as how the soldiers was agwine tuh be used tuh hunt the squatters through the swamps whar they has lived always, an' which is the on'y home they got."
"All of which is a lie made out of whole cloth," declared Phil, indignantly, "my father isn't that sort of man. Why, he wanted to come down here himself and meet the McGee face to face; but he had an important lot of business on hand. Perhaps he may show up yet! And when your father once comes to know him, he'll never have cause to feel sore toward Dr. Gideon Lancing, because he happens to be a rich man."
"I've heard 'em talkin' about it heaps," said Tony, "an' they 'spect to have tuh fight sooner or later. They's a hard lot, and live a wild life. Yuh couldn't blame 'em much for hatin' the name of the man they look on as their enemy."
"Wait a little while, Tony. I'm bound to meet your father, and see if I can't change that stubborn mind of his. Perhaps I've got some magic about me. Perhaps I could show him something that would change a foe into a friend. Anyhow, all you say doesn't alter my mind a mite," and Phil smiled into the troubled face of the swamp boy as he spoke.
Larry had listened to all this with the greatest interest. While he might to some extent share the confidence of his chum, still he did not feel quite so positive about the warmth of their welcome by the lawless band of shingle-makers peopling the lower reaches of the river that emptied into the gulf.
So they occasionally chatted as they moved along down the stream. Phil asked a great variety of questions concerning the possibilities of the country they were now passing through, as a game preserve.
"They's deer tuh be had aplenty," Tony had answered, readily enough; "an' now an' then a b'ar. Cats and coons c'n be run across any old time. Once in a long spell yuh see a painter. Turkeys lie on the sunny sides o' the swales an' ridges. Then in heaps o' places yuh c'n scare up flocks o' pa'tridges as fat as butter."
"They call quail by that name down here," remarked Phil, turning to Larry; "just as they call our black bass of the big mouth species a 'trout' in Florida. You have to understand these things, or else you'll get badly mixed up. And Tony, my chum here wants to know how about squirrels; for he thinks he could bag a few of that species of small game, given a chance, with my Marlin pump-gun."
"Sho! no end o' 'em along the hamaks, both grays an' fox squirrels," replied the swamp boy; "they's a tough lot though; and weuns always boils a squirrel fust before we fries him."
"I've done that many a time myself," laughed Phil; "so I guess the frisky little nut-crackers are about the same, North and South. But they make a good stew all right, when a fellow's sharp set with hunger. I can remember eating a mess, and thinking it the finest supper ever."
A good many miles had been covered by the time the afternoon waned; although not a great deal of southing may have been made. That river was the greatest thing to curve, and twist back on its course, Phil had ever met with. He declared that in some places he could throw a stone across a neck of land into the water which the boat had passed over half an hour back.
"Makes me think of a great big snake moving along over the ground," Larry had declared as he discussed this feature of the stream with the others.
But Tony assured them that as they progressed further this peculiarity would for the most part gradually vanish, and the river, growing wider and deeper, act in a more sensible manner.
The country was certainly as wild as heart could wish.
"Just to think," Larry had remarked, "outside of a few shanties below the town we haven't set eyes on the first sign of a man all afternoon. Why, a feller might imagine himself in the heart of Africa, or some other tropical country. Look at that big blue heron wading in the water ahead, would you? There he flaps his wings, and is off, with his long legs sticking out from under him like a fishing pole."
"Which is just about what they are," returned Phil; "since he has to use them to get his regular fish dinner right along. There's a white crane; and what d'ye call that other handsome white bird that just got up, Tony?"
"Ibis. Ain't so many 'round hyah nowadays as they used tuh be. Some fellers gits on tuh their roosts and nestin' places, an' kills the birds when they got young uns. My dad just hates them critters like pizen. He caught a cracker onct as done it, an' they give him a coat, all right. He never dast shoot another bird ag'in, I'm tellin' yuh."
"Meaning that they tarred and feathered him?" said Phil, who was better able to grasp the meaning of the swamp boy than innocent Larry, to whom all such language was like Hebrew or Greek. "Well, I'm glad to hear that your father has such notions. And it tells me he isn't the savage some of these up-river people tried to make us believe. For any man who would shoot the mother birds, and leave the young to starve in the nests, just for the sake of a dollar or two, ought to get tarred and feathered! Them's my sentiments, Tony!"
"Hear! hear! ditto! Count me in!" chirped Larry, nodding his head positively; for he had a tender heart; and the plaintive cry of starving nestlings would appeal to him strongly—even though he had never as yet heard such a thing.
"I believe that a true sportsman ought to never destroy more game than he can make use of," Phil continued, for the subject was one very close to his heart. "My father taught me that long ago; and I've grown to think more of it right along. I've known men to throw trout by dozens up on the bank, when their creel was as full as it could hold. They seemed to think that unless a fish was killed there could be no fun in capturing it."
"Say, don't they call those kind of chaps game butchers?" asked Larry.
"Right you are, Larry; and I'm glad to see that you've got the breed sized up to a dot. I'd let a deer trot past me without pulling trigger if I knew we had all the meat we could use in camp."
"But just now that doesn't happen to apply," remarked the other, pointedly.
"Hold the wheel for a minute, Larry, quick!" said Phil, in a low, thrilling tone.
He instantly snatched up the repeating gun as soon as his chum's fingers had closed upon the steering wheel. Larry turned his eyes to look ahead, for he realized that his companion must have seen something.
A crashing sound was heard. Then he had a glimpse of a dun colored object flitting through the scrub palmettoes under the pines.
"Oh! that was a deer, wasn't it?" Larry exclaimed.
Phil had lowered his gun, with an expression akin to disappointment on his face.
"Just what it was," he said; "and he got away scot free, all right, thanks to that scrub interfering with my aim. Well, better luck next time, Larry. I think I'm safe in saying you will have venison before long."
"But," interrupted the other, as he worked valiantly at the wheel, for they had come to an abrupt turn of the river, "I saw him skip past. Why didn't you shoot anyhow and take chances?"
"I might if I'd had a rifle," answered Phil; "but the distance was so far that I knew there was a mighty poor show of my bringing him down with scattering buckshot. I'd hate to just wound the poor beast, and have him suffer. If we could have come closer before he scampered off, it would have been different."
Possibly few boys would have allowed themselves to hesitate under such conditions; but as Phil said, he had been taught what he knew of woodcraft by a father who was very careful about taking the life he could never give back again.
After that Larry kept constantly on the alert watching ahead, in the hope of discovering another deer, which might be brought down by his quick acting chum.
"Of course we won't try to run along after night sets in," remarked Larry, as he noted how low in the west the glowing sun had fallen.
"Well, not if we know it," laughed Phil. "It's all a fellow can do now, with the broad daylight to help him guide this boat around the corners, and avoiding snags. Look at that half submerged log ahead there, will you? Suppose we ran full tilt on that now, what a fine hole there would be punched in the bow of the Aurora, to let the river in. No, we're going to stop pretty soon."
"That means to tie up for the night, don't it?" queried Larry, always wanting to know.
"If we can find a tree handy, which will always be the case along the river, I take it," Phil replied. "We carry an anchor of course; but I don't expect to use that till we get to the big gulf. Tony, suppose you keep an eye out for the right tying-up place, will you?"
The two chums had talked the matter over when they had a chance, while Tony happened to be at the other end of the boat; and thus decided to coax the swamp boy to don some extra clothes they had along with them. He was not so much smaller than Phil, and if he was to make one of their party they felt that it would look better for him to discard the rags he was then wearing.
Tony took it in the right spirit, and after a bath in the river that evening he said he would be only too glad to deck himself out in the trousers, flannel shirt and moccasins which Phil offered. The big red M on the breast of Larry's shirt, which was to become his property, seemed to take the eye of the swamp lad more than anything else. Of course it stood for Madison, the name of the baseball club the Northern boy belonged to; but it was easy to feel that it also represented the magic name of McGee.
Tony presently called out that their stopping place was just ahead. So Phil shut off power, after he had gently swung the boat in near the left bank. The setting pole, which every boat cruising in Florida waters invariably carries, was brought into use, and in this way the nose of the Aurora touched the shore.
Larry immediately tumbled over the side, rope in hand, whipping the same around a sentinel tree that stood close to the water's edge, as if for the special use of voyagers.
Once the boat was "snubbed" the current swung her around until her bow pointed up stream; and in this position she would rest easy during the night. But Phil made doubly sure against accidents by going ashore, and seeing that Larry had fashioned the proper sort of hitch knot with the stout cable.
"There's still half an hour of daylight, fellows," sang out Phil, as he picked up his gun, together with the belt of shells; "and while you amuse yourselves here, I think I'll take a little walk around. Possibly another deer might heave in sight, or even a wild turkey."
"Yum! yum! you make my mouth water, Phil," mumbled Larry, who was already getting out some fishing tackle, with the idea of trying for a bass in the brownish waters below the tied-up launch.
"Keep an eye out for rattlers!" warned Tony.
"You just believe I will," called Phil, over his shoulder. "I've got my leather leggins on though, which would be some protection. But I don't care to interview the fangs of a big diamondback. So-long, boys; see you later!"
When Phil walked away from the spot where the power boat was secured, with his two companions aboard, he did not mean to go far. Night would soon swoop down on the wilderness; and from former unpleasant experiences the young hunter knew what it was to be lost.
This was his first experience in Florida sport, and he knew that he had lots to learn; but he was a boy who always kept his eyes and ears open; and besides, had a general knowledge of the many things peculiar to the country.
He had mapped out a little turn in his mind. By moving directly east for perhaps ten minutes, then turning sharply north, and proceeding for the same length of time, after which he would swing into the southwest, Phil believed he might cover quite a stretch of territory, and stand few chances of missing the river.
He pushed on through patches of the ever-present saw palmetto, with its queer roots thrust out of the ground, and as large as a man's leg. Phil never ceased to be interested in this strange product of the southern zone, even if he did manage to stumble over the up-lifted roots more than once.
The pine woods proved rather open, since they had halted for the first night in a region where there was something of a swamp on one side of the river, and high land on the other. Tony had of course selected the latter for their stopping place.
Phil noticed that he had the breeze on the left as he advanced; and it was toward this quarter in particular that he kept his eyes turned; for if he was to get near a feeding deer it would have to be with the animal toward the wind.
When he made his first turn, and headed north, the conditions were still more favorable, since he was now walking directly into the breeze.
Once he heard the whirr of little wings. He had flushed a covey of quail; but as his mind was at the time set on nobler game, and the chance for a shot not particularly good, he did not attempt to fire; though naturally his gun flew up to his shoulder through the hunter instinct.
"Looks good to me ahead there?" he muttered, as he noticed some patches of green in open spots or little glades. "If there's a deer around, I ought to find him feeding at this hour of the afternoon."
With this idea pressing upon his mind he began to advance cautiously in the direction of the glades; keeping his body sheltered by the scrub, and his eyes on the alert for a moving red form.
Five, ten minutes he employed in making his "creep," but he found that it was time well spent; for as he finally reached the spot he had been aiming for, he discovered a deer within easy gunshot, calmly feeding.
Phil repressed any emotion that would have overcome a greenhorn at the fine prospect for a shot. He saw that the animal was a bit suspicious, since it frequently raised its head to sniff the air, and look timidly around.
That meant a quick shot, while the chance remained. Once the animal took the alarm it would bound away on wings of fear; and Phil knew that it was not so easy to hit a leaping deer, especially when trees and scrub intervened.
So he raised his Marlin at a time when the deer's head was lowered. Perhaps even this cautious movement may have stirred some leaf, for he saw that graceful head quickly raised. The deer was looking straight at him.
"Bang!"
No sooner had Phil fired than he sent the empty shell flying with one swift movement of the forearm; and by another action brought a fresh shell into place. Thus he was instantly ready to shoot again, so marvelously did the clever mechanism of the up-to-date firearm work.
No second shot, however, was needed. One look convinced the young Nimrod of that pleasant fact. The deer had fallen, and seemed to be kicking its last on the grass.
Phil hastily advanced, still holding his gun in readiness for instant action in case of necessity; for he had heard of wounded deer jumping up, and in a rage attacking the hunter.
When he reached the side of his quarry, however, the last movement had ceased; and Phil knew he had secured the game for which Larry had been pining so long.
"My! what a little chap!" he exclaimed. "Now I wonder if it can be a youngster; and yet look at the full-fledged antlers, would you? But then it seems to me I was told the deer down South were all much smaller than up in the Adirondacks. I believe I can carry this fellow to the boat without any help."
He soon lifted the game, and swung it to his back. Then, managing to grip his gun in one hand, he took his bearings again, and started off.
Phil was too experienced a woodsman to easily get lost. And he had fixed the points of the compass so well in his mind that, just as he expected, he actually struck the river a short distance above the tied-up motor boat.
Larry was still fishing away, and so engrossed in playing a bass that had taken his bait that he did not at first notice the returning hunter. Having finally succeeded in dragging his prize aboard, with the help of Tony, he was made aware of the coming of his chum through low words spoken by the swamp boy.
One look Larry gave; then seeing what it really was Phil carried on his shoulders he let out a whoop that might have been heard a mile.
"Venison for supper, with fish! Wow! ain't we going to live high, though? Delmonico isn't in it with we, us and company tonight. See, I've caught three fine bass, Phil; and didn't they pull like sixty, though? My arms are real sore after the job of getting them in. And I didn't break your nice pole, either."
"Which was very kind of you, old fellow," said Phil. "Somebody please take my gun, so I can dump this deer on the ground. I bled him, Tony; but when we cut the venison up, we don't want to make a mess aboard. And that limb up yonder will be just the ticket to hang him from over-night, to keep our meat away from any prowling cats."
Larry drew in his line and put away his fishing rod, which of course was to him only a "pole." He immediately busied himself in getting ready to cook supper. And presently everybody seemed hard at work. Tony was cleaning the fish, Phil getting some slices from the haunch of the deer; and Larry peeling potatoes which they had secured in the river town that morning.
A couple of lanterns gave all the light needed when night gathered around them. And after all it was not so dark; for the moon happened to be more than half full, and being nearly overhead, shone down nicely.
Phil pounded the steaks he had cut off, hoping in this way to make them somewhat more tender. A fire was built ashore, since they had need to save their kerosene when it could be just as well done as not.
Over this Larry got busy. He had all the assistance he required; for as soon as the coffee got to boiling, the fish to frying, after being placed in a pan where some salt pork had been tried out; and the venison to browning, the mingled odors caused every fellow to realize that he was mighty hungry.
As long as he lived Larry would probably never forget that first supper in the wilderness. It seemed to him as though he might be living in an enchanted land; with that silvery moon shining overhead, the fire sparkling near by, and all those delightful dishes awaiting attention.
Food never tasted one half so delicious as it did right then; for already was Larry beginning to get the hunter's zest, what with the ozone in the air, and the prospect for happy days ahead.
And when they could eat no more there was still quite a quantity of the cooked food left over, which Larry stowed away in a couple of pans against breakfast.
With Tony's help Phil managed to draw the carcass of the deer up some ten feet from the ground. It looked quite weird swinging there in the moonlight; but Larry chuckled with pleasure every time his eyes roved that way.
He had declared the venison was all that he had expected it to be; and vowed it equaled any ordinary beefsteak he had ever eaten.
"Next time we try it, though," Larry said, "I'm going to fry a mess of those nice big onions we've got along. Always did have a weakness for steak with onions."
"Let's talk about something else besides eating," remarked Phil.
"Well, how d'ye like your coffee then, with this evaporated cream in it?" asked the cook, as he lifted his tin cup, and proceeded to drain it.
"It's all to the good, and touches the right spot," Phil laughed; and then added, to get his chum's mind off the subject: "How many more days journey lie ahead of us, Tony, before we strike the region where the shingle-makers live?"
The swamp boy seemed to consider.
"If we make good time tomorrow, it ought to be only one more day after that," he remarked, with convincing positiveness.
"Well, we don't expect to rush things," said Phil; "but since there's an ugly piece of business ahead, I mean to get it over with as soon as I can, with reason. One more night, and then we'll come in touch with your people, eh?"
"If yuh don't change your mind some, an' turn back," replied the other; with a vein of pleading in his smooth Southern voice that quite touched Phil.
He knew what influenced the swamp boy; who was fearful lest some harm befall the new-found friend who had become so dear to him, even though a span of a day would cover their acquaintance.
"How about our being disturbed tonight by some hungry wildcat that might scent fresh blood, and think to dine on our fine deer up yonder?" and Phil nodded his head up toward the swaying bundle—for the game had been partly skinned, and was now wrapped up in the hide.
"That might be," returned the other, carelessly. "All depends if thar be a hungry cat aroun'. Hear 'em, and get a shot."
"Oh! my! do you really think such a thing could happen?" exclaimed Larry, a bit uneasily as though he wondered whether an agile wildcat might not take a notion to jump into the launch while up in the overhanging tree.
"Don't worry about it, Chum Larry," said Phil soothingly. "This stationary top would keep him from getting aboard, you see. But in case you hear a shot during the night, just remember what we've been talking about."
"All right, I will," Larry observed; and later on when making preparations for sleeping he was unusually careful to tuck himself well in, and draw down the curtains close to him, fastening them securely with the grummets that were meant to clutch the round-headed screws along the side.
Phil himself was secretly wishing a hungry cat might come sneaking along, to climb up in the tree, and tackle their meat; for he wanted to have the satisfaction of saying he had shot a Florida bobcat; and in protecting their stores he could find plenty of excuses for making war on such a beast.
So he arranged things when laying down, in order to allow of a peep at any time he woke up. As long as the moon remained above the horizon, which would be until after midnight, he could plainly see that dark object swinging from the limb of the tree above.
None of them dreamed of the various things that were fated to come to pass ere the journey's end was reached. Could stout hearted Phil have had a fleeting vision of what lay before them, even he might have hesitated about going on. But he fully believed that he was carrying an olive branch of peace that could not fail to subdue the truculent nature of the dreaded McGee. And it was in that confident spirit he fell asleep.
Possibly a couple of hours may have passed when he awakened, feeling rather cramped from lying on one side so long. Before turning over, he remembered his intention to take occasional peeps up at the meat that had been swung aloft; and raising the flap of the loose curtain he cast his eyes in that quarter.
The moon was lower now, but still shone brightly. And he could without any particular trouble make out the dark object which he knew must be the suspended package of venison. Nothing seemed to be near it, save the usual branches of the tree; and Phil was about to give a satisfied grunt, after which he would roll over the other way, when somehow he became convinced that the bundle appeared much larger than previously.
Watching closely he made a startling discovery. There was some object flattened out on top of the deer, for he plainly saw it move, as though a head were being raised. And what was evidently the truth burst upon him. A wildcat had climbed the tree while they slept, and was now trying to get at the venison!
Phil reached for his gun. Luckily he had it close by, even though hardly expecting to make use of it during the night.
He fancied he heard a low snarking sound; possibly it may have been pure imagination; though so wary an animal as a wildcat might have detected a movement down below, where its human enemies held forth, and signified by this means its displeasure at being disturbed in a feast.
Now the gun was being carefully pushed forth, advantage being taken of the opening under the canvas cover, where Phil had released a couple of the grummets. He wondered just how he was to get the butt against his shoulder, under such peculiar conditions; but where there's a will there nearly always can be found a way; and in the end this difficulty was bridged over.
Then he thought of Larry. What a fright the sudden roar of the gun in the confined space under the canopy would give his chum. But Phil had warned him against being alarmed in case of a shot during the night.
Was the cat still there?
Looking closely he could see a movement as though the animal might have finally reached the meat through the covering, and was busily engaged chewing at it.
"Think of the nerve of the thing!" Phil was saying under his breath, as he got ready to fire.
The report quickly followed. Phil, once he was ready, began to have a fear lest the animal take sudden alarm, and make a leap that would carry it beyond his range of vision. And the more he thought over the thing the greater became his desire to punish the beast for its audacity.
"Thunder!" shouted Larry, as he came floundering off his made-up bed, landing in a struggling heap in the bottom of the motor boat.
"Oh! no, not quite so bad as that," laughed Phil, himself gaining an upright position; and trying the best he could to throw out the old shell, so that he might have the pump-gun in serviceable shape again.
Tony seemed to be the least disturbed of the lot. Familiarity with alarms had considerable to do with it, no doubt. He had started to open the flap of the canvas cover nearest him, so that he could thrust his head out.
"What happened, Phil?" asked Larry, as he sat up on the floor of the boat.
"Why, I just saved our bacon; or to be plainer, our venison," laughed the other.
"Oh! was something running away with it, then?" demanded Larry, beginning to get upon his knees as the first step toward rising.
"Something was making way with it, which is about the same thing," replied Phil.
"W-was it a bobcat?" continued Larry.
"Listen!"
As Phil said this one word they could hear a fierce growling, accompanied by a strange scurrying sound. It came from the shore close to the boat.
"Will it come in here after us, Phil?" asked the more timid member of the firm, as he tried to find the hatchet which he remembered seeing somewhere close by at the time he lay down on his cot.
"How about that, Tony; do you think there's any danger of such a thing happening?" queried Phil, turning to the swamp boy.
"Getting weaker all the time," came the ready reply. "I think yuh give him all in the gun. Kick the bucket purty soon now."
Tony thrust the curtains more fully aside. Then he crept out and reached the shore; nor was Phil far behind him. The latter, however, not being quite so confident as Tony, insisted on carrying his Marlin repeater along. If the dying cat gave evidence of a desire to attack them, he wanted to be in shape to finish matters on the spot.
There was really no need. Even as he arrived on the scene the stricken animal gave one last convulsive shudder, and stiffened out.
"Good shot that!" remarked Tony, admiringly, as he bent over to see where Phil had struck the midnight marauder.
"Wow! what a savage looking pussy!" exclaimed Larry, joining the others. "I'd everlastingly hate to run up against such a customer in the pine woods. Say, if a fellow like that pounced down on my back some time, what ought I to do?"
"Lie down, and roll," laughed Phil; who knew that down here in this warm country, where food is plenty, no wildcat would be bold enough to openly attack a human being without provocation.
Tony immediately started to shin up the tree, desirous of ascertaining the extent of damage done. When he came down he announced that the beast had just succeeded in tearing a way in to the venison; but had eaten very little of it, thanks to Phil chancing to awaken when he did.
So, as the night air felt rather chilly, they soon bundled back into the boat again, and sought to secure more sleep.
There was no further alarm that night, and Larry was glad when his chum aroused him by saying that morning had arrived.
The sun was beginning to gild the eastern heavens when they started to get breakfast. Larry took a look all around, after what he fancied would be the manner of an old sea dog; and then gravely announced his opinion as to the weather.
"Guess we're going to have another fine day of it. No sign of red in that sunrise; and the few fleecy white clouds don't whisper rain. You know, Phil, I'm taking considerable interest in weather predictions these days. Got an old almanac along, to compare notes. I hazard a guess first, and then look up what old Jerold says we're going to have."
"Well, how do his predictions pan out?" asked Phil.
"Oh! nine times out of ten it happens just the opposite to what he says. That's the fun of the thing. He knows how to tell what the weather ain't going to be; and to my mind that's going some. Now, what shall we eat this morning?"
"Any of those fresh eggs left we bought from that old cracker just outside the town limits?" asked the head of the expedition. "Half a dozen, you say? Good! Suppose you give us an omelet for a change. They might get broken, anyway; and we'd better have the use of 'em."
"What will you do with that awful beast out there, Phil?"
"Tony is going to look after him for me," replied the one who had shot the bobcat thief. "He says it is a very fine skin, and that sometime I'll be glad to have it made into a little door mat. He knows how to take it off, and stretch it on a contrivance he expects to make. You see, he's handy at all such things. Necessity is a great teacher. If you just had to go hungry for two whole days, Larry, I really believe you could do it."
"Perhaps I could," sighed the other; "but thank goodness, just at present there's no need of fasting, while we've got all these bully stores aboard, and that haunch of prime venison hanging up there. Suppose you drop it down, Tony, if you don't mind climbing the tree again. Two eggs apiece ain't going to fill the bill; and the taste I had of that venison last night haunts me still."
At that Phil chuckled.
"Seems to me, just before we went to bed I saw you getting away with the surplus we put in that pan," he remarked.
"Oh! that was only a little snack," replied the unabashed Larry. "This air seems to tone up a fellow's appetite some. Given a week or two of the open life, and I have hopes that my usual appetite will come back to me again."
Of course the breakfast was a success. Larry could cook, even if he did lack many of the qualities that should be found in a woodsman; and was woefully ignorant as to the thousand and one things connected with the great outdoors.
Still, Phil had hopes of him. From time to time he kept dinning certain facts into the ears of his chum. These concerned the secrets of the open, and which at times are so important to any one who dares venture into the woods.
He explained for instance, to his boat mate, just how to learn the direction of the compass from the sun, the marks on the trees, and even his watch, if put to it. He showed him how to make a fire without a match, by the use of friction, after the manner of savage tribes who never knew flint and steel, or a brimstone stick. He explained to Larry how easy it was to cook game, by making a fire in a hole until it had become very hot, and then placing the meat therein; sealing the oven until hours had elapsed; which backwoods method of cooking was really the first fireless cooker known.
In these and dozens of other ways Phil daily taught his chum. Larry evinced considerable interest in the matter so long as his comrade was speaking; but that was about as far as it went. He did not have the spirit in him; and the seed fell on barren ground. Larry would never in all his life make a genuine woodsman. But if he kept on, he might in time get a job in a restaurant over the grill, so Phil assured him, as he complimented Larry on the fine omelet.
An hour later they left the place which Larry called "Wildcat Camp" in his log of the motor boat cruise.
Larry was full of high spirits. Indeed, it was hard for him to keep from showing his bubbling good nature at any and all times. Phil too seemed quite contented with the way things were moving along. Only the swamp boy gave evidence of increasing uneasiness.
Tony would sit there as if lost in thought, his eyes fastened on the frank face of the young fellow for whom he had come to entertain such a lively sense of friendship in the short time he had known him. Then he would sigh, and shake his head dolefully, as though he foresaw troubles arising which he would fain ward off, if only Phil would accept his earnest advice, and turn around before it was too late.
But Phil believed he had that on his person which would change the terrible McGee from a bitter enemy into a good friend; and confident in his own honorable intentions he never dreamed of turning back.
"Looks like there ought to be some game around here!"
Strange to say it was Larry who made this remark. They had tied up at noon, and made a fire ashore, at which the midday meal was prepared. Phil seemed in no particular hurry to proceed afterward; and Larry, who had been "mousing" around, as he called it, surprised his chum by declaring that the appearance of the country indicated the presence of game.
Perhaps the many talks of Phil were beginning to bear fruit. Then again it might be Larry rather envied his chum the glory of killing that marauding bobcat; the skin of which at some future day Phil would have made a fine mat, at which he could point, and carelessly speak of the "time when he knocked that beast out of a tree, while the moon was shining, and his companions sound asleep."
More likely than either of these, however, Phil believed his chum was yearning for a variety in the bill of fare. Quail on toast would strike Larry about right; or even rabbit or squirrel stew; provided the meat for the pot were the product of his skill as a Nimrod.
"Suppose you take the gun, and prowl around a bit!" he suggested, more as a joke than because he dreamed lazy Larry would accept the proposition.
"All right!" exclaimed the other, with surprising alacrity. "Me to do the sneaking act, and see if I can hit a flock of barns. You know I did manage to break one of those bottles you threw up that day, Phil, even if you said I shut my eyes every time I pulled the trigger. All the more credit to me. It takes a smart marksman to hit a flying object with his eyes shut. Just think what a miracle I'd be if I kept 'em open! Gimme the gun, and let me hie forth. Quail for supper wouldn't go bad; but if it should be wild turkey, why, I suppose we'll just have to stand it."
Phil hardly knew whether he was doing right to let Larry saunter forth. Even after he had handed the Marlin over, he shook his head dubiously.
"Don't go far, now," he said, warningly; "and try and be back here inside of an hour. If you ain't, we'll look you up. And remember, Larry, if you should get lost don't go to wandering everlastingly about. Just stop short, make a fire, and get all the black smoke rising you can. This fat pine makes a great smudge, you know, and might guide us to you."
"Huh! Lost, me?" cried Larry, pretending to be very indignant. "Why, after all you've been and told me it would be simply impossible! I'll know where I am every time."
"Oh! yes," laughed Phil; "just like the Indian did, we read about, eh?"
"How was that?" demanded Larry, as he buckled the belt of shells around his generous waist.
"Why, once upon a time an old Indian actually wandered around several days without being able to locate his home. That's pretty hard to believe, but the story runs that way. Then some white men came across him, hungry and tired. They asked him if he was lost, and the old fellow got mad right away. Smacking himself on his chest proudly, he said: 'Injun lost? No, Injun not lost; wigwam lost—Injun here!' And that's the way it would be with you. Now get along, and be sure you bring in the game. I changed the buckshot shells for birdshot; but put these heavy loads in your pocket in case you need them."
So Larry trotted gaily forth. He fancied he looked every inch a Nimrod in his new corduroy suit, and with the gun under his arm, carried in the same way he had seen his chum do it many a time. But then Larry did not know that the hunter who wears an old jacket, with a patch on the right shoulder where a hole has been worn by constant friction from carrying a gun, is most apt to inspire respect in the minds of those who can size the true sportsman up.
Phil was rather sleepy, for he had not secured all the rest he wanted on the preceding night. So he stretched out on the ground, and dozed.
Every little while he would arouse himself, and consult his little nickel timepiece. Tony was busy scraping the hide of the wildcat, and fixing it on a stretcher which he had ingeniously fashioned out of a heavy strip of bark, straightened out flat, and held so by a couple of sticks secured to the back.
"Time that greenhorn was back, Tony," Phil finally remarked, as he sat up. "By the way, did you hear a shot a little while ago, perhaps half an hour?"
Tony said he had, and he could also tell the exact direction from whence it had sprung.
"How far away was it, do you think?" continued Phil, seriously.
"'Bout half mile, I reckons," came the reply, without hesitation.
"The air is from that quarter too, I notice; and of course you take that into consideration when you figure on the distance?"
"Oh! yes, I know," nodded Tony.
"But half a mile—he ought to have been back before now. We'll wait a little while longer, and then if he don't show up I guess we'll just have to go after him."
Tony did not reply; but judging from the little smile that crossed his face, it was evident that the swamp boy felt pretty confident they would have to take up the hunt. He had sized Larry up pretty readily as a failure in woodcraft, and a sure enough tenderfoot of the worst type.
"No signs of him yet," announced Phil after a bit, rising to his feet; while a look of growing concern began to come upon his face. "I was silly to let him take the risk. Ought to have known Larry would bungle it, if there was half a chance. And now, Tony, what had we better do, follow his tracks, or head straight in the direction that shot came from."
"Follow trail," the other answered promptly.
"You are sure we will be able to keep on it, all right?" continued Phil.
"I think so," replied the swamp boy, with a smile of assurance; as though he looked upon such a test as of little moment; for what had he been learning all of his life if not to accomplish just such tasks?
"All right then; let's get busy."
First of all Phil dashed off a few lines on a scrap of paper, telling Larry, if he hit camp while they were absent, to settle down by the boat, and wait for them. This he stuck in the cleft of a dead palmetto leaf stem, which in turn he thrust in the ground in front of the tied-up motor boat.
Then he followed Tony into the scrub. The swamp boy walked along with his head bent slightly over. His keen eyes were doubtless picking up the plain marks made by clumsy Larry as he wandered forth in search of the coveted quail, which he hoped to adorn sundry pieces of toast that evening.
Phil too was keeping tabs on the trail, though he realized that if there arose any knotty problem that Tony could not solve, his own knowledge would hardly avail.
It was a very erratic line of tracks. Larry evidently had no particular plan of campaign marked out when he sallied forth. If he gradually bore to the left it was because of that well known failing that all greenhorns tracking through the forest, or over the open prairie, fall heir too; in which the right side of their bodies being the stronger, they gradually veer to the left, until, given time enough, they may even make a complete circle.
Tony pointed out just where the hunter, fancying he had sighted game, began to sneak up on it. Why, he could read every movement Larry had made from the marks left behind, just as readily as though he were actually watching him.
"But he didn't shoot here, after all?" said Phil.
"No, p'raps game fly away; or mebbe all a mistake," Tony replied. "See no empty shell near where he kneel in sand. He go on further, this aways," and he once more led off through the woods.
After a while Phil believed they must be close to the place where his chum had discharged his gun just once. Nor was he much surprised when Tony suddenly darted sideways, and picked up an empty shell.
"Here shoot all right; camp over thar!" said the swamp boy, pointing without hesitation through the timber; doubtless the direction of the wind aided him in thus fixing the location of the boat in his mind.
"But what could he have shot at?" exclaimed Phil. "I don't see any sign of game around here, do you?"
"Start on run fast," remarked Tony, pointing down to the ground, as though he had read that fact there in the change of the footprints.
"Then perhaps he did hit something!" exclaimed Phil. "Let's follow and see if there's any sign. It may have been only a hamak fox squirrel he saw, and thought to bag, so he wouldn't have to come in with empty hands."
"No, wild turkey!" declared Tony, holding up a feather his quick eye had detected on the ground.
"Well, however in the wide world d'ye suppose that clumsy chum of mine ever managed to get close enough to such wary game to knock a feather from it?" laughed Phil; "but he must have wounded the bird, for he's gone headlong through the woods here in full chase."
They followed on for some time. Phil began to wonder how Larry ever kept up the pace. Truly the hunter instinct must have been aroused at last in the fat boy to have caused him to thus wildly exert himself. And in the excitement he doubtless forgot all about the directions given him by his chum.
"Why, he's going further and further away from camp all the time!" announced Phil presently.
"Heap game Larry," grinned the swamp boy, who doubtless understood the new spirit that was urging the other on, with his wounded game constantly tantalizing him.
"Hark!" cried Phil, as he held up his hand warningly. "Did you hear that?"
"Help! oh! help!" came faintly from some point away ahead.