“Did he seem dazed or confused?”
“Your friend the same as always. Make-a the joke.”
On the grill, the hamburgers were beginning to burn at the edges. Mark flipped them between buns, adding generous quantities of mustard, pickle, catsup, and sliced onions to Salt’s sandwich.
Penny now was so excited she scarcely could take time to eat.
“Which way did Jerry go when he left here?” she questioned eagerly.
“He crossa de street. After dat, I did not see.”
“Jerry lives in the St. Agnes Apartments not far from here,” Salt recalled. “Maybe he’s there now!”
Quickly finishing their sandwiches, the pair gave Mark a dollar, refusing to accept change. As they started away, he followed them to the door.
“You know-a somebody who wanta good job, good pay?” he whispered. “Frankey is eating me outta all my profits. You know-a somebody?”
“Afraid we don’t,” Salt replied. “We’ll keep it in mind though, and if we hear of anyone wanting work, we’ll send him around.”
From the hamburger hut, Penny and Salt drove directly to the St. Agnes Apartment Hotel. The clerk on duty could not tell them if Jerry were in his room or not.
“Go on up if you want to,” he suggested. “Room 207.”
Climbing the stairs, they pounded on the door. There was no answer. Salt tried again. Not a sound came from inside the room.
“It’s no use,” the photographer said in disappointment. “Mark may have been mistaken. Anyway, Jerry’s not here.”
Penny gazed at Salt in grim despair. “I was so sure Jerry would be here,” she murmured. “What can we do now?”
“We’ve run down every clue,” he replied gloomily. “If he isn’t at the hospital, I’m afraid it’s a case for the police.”
“But Mark was so sure he had seen Jerry tonight. Try once more, Salt.”
“Okay, but it’s useless. He’s not here.”
Again Salt hammered on the door with his fist. He was turning away when a sleepy voice called: “Who’s there?”
“Jerry is in there!” Penny cried. “Thank goodness, he’s safe!”
“Open up, you lug!” ordered Salt.
A bed creaked, footsteps padded across the carpet and the door swung back. Jerry, in silk dressing gown, blinked sleepily out at them.
“What do you want?” he mumbled. “Can’t you let a fellow catch forty winks without sending out the riot squad?”
“How are you feeling, Jerry, my boy?” Salt inquired solicitously.
“Never felt better in my life, except I’m sleepy.”
“Then what made you walk out of the hospital?”
“I don’t like hospitals.”
“We ought to punch you in the nose for making us so much trouble,” Salt said affectionately. “Here we spent half the night searching the swamp for you!”
Jerry’s face crinkled into a broad grin. “The swamp! That’s good!”
“Didn’t you ask a taximan at the hospital how much it would cost to go there?” Penny reminded him.
“Sure, but I decided not to go.”
“You got a nerve!” Salt muttered. “Climb into your clothes and we’ll take you back to your cell.”
“Oh, no, you don’t!” Jerry backed away from the door. “I’m no more sick than you are, and I’m not going back to the hospital!”
“You’re an advanced case for a mental institution!” the photographer snapped. “Maybe you don’t know Danny Deevers is out to get you and he means business!”
“I’m not worried about Danny.”
“Maybe you don’t think he cracked you on the head tonight at the theater?”
“I’ve been thinking it over,” Jerry replied slowly. “Probably it was Danny, but I doubt he’ll dare show his face again. Police are too hot on his trail.”
“Says you!” snorted Salt. “By the way, why were you so interested in going to the swamp tonight? Any clues?”
“Only the information you and Penny gave me.”
“We learned a little more this evening,” Penny informed him eagerly. “And we have a photograph we want you to identify.”
The story of their findings at Caleb Corners and beyond, was briefly told. Salt then showed Jerry the picture of the ancient car which had been involved in the traffic accident.
“This older man is Danny Deevers,” Jerry positively identified him after studying the photograph a minute. “I don’t recognize the driver of the car.”
“We’re almost sure he’s one of the Hawkins’ boys,” Penny declared. “You know, the swamper we told you about.”
Jerry nodded. “In that case, putting the finger on Deevers should be easy for the police. The Hawkins family could be arrested on suspicion. Like as not, Deevers is hiding in the swamp just as Penny suspected!”
“If he is, it won’t be easy to capture him,” commented Salt. “They say a man could hide there a year without being found. And if the Hawkins’ boy is arrested, he’ll naturally lie low.”
Jerry thoughtfully studied the photograph again. “That’s so,” he admitted. “Anyway, our evidence is pretty weak. We couldn’t pin anything on either of the Hawkins’ boys on the strength of this photograph.”
“It would only involve Mrs. Jones,” contributed Penny. “Why turn it over to the police?”
“Well, it would relieve us of a lot of responsibility. Tell you what! I know the Chief pretty well. Suppose I give the picture to him and ask him to go easy on Mrs. Jones? I think he would play along with us.”
“Sounds like a good idea to me,” approved Salt. “The police can watch the Hawkins place and maybe learn Danny’s hideout without tipping their hand.”
The matter of the photograph settled, he and Penny turned to leave.
“We’ll send the hospital ambulance after you, Jerry,” Salt said by way of farewell. “Better get into some duds.”
“I’m not going back there!”
“It’s no use trying to make him,” said Penny who knew from experience that the reporter could be stubborn. “But do be careful, won’t you, Jerry?”
“Sure,” he promised. “And thanks to both of you for all your trouble!”
The hour now was well past midnight. Saying goodbye to Jerry, Penny had Salt take her directly home.
Quietly she slipped into the house and upstairs to her own room without disturbing Mrs. Weems.
However, next morning, explanations were in order, and as was to be expected, the housekeeper did not look with approval upon the trip to the swamp.
“Your motives may have been excellent,” she told Penny, “but your judgment was very poor. Even with Salt as an escort you shouldn’t have gone.”
To make amends, Penny stayed close at home that morning, helping with an ironing. At noon when her father came for luncheon, she eagerly plied him with questions about the Danny Deevers case.
“There’s nothing new to report,” Mr. Parker said. “He’s still at large. TheStarhas posted a $10,000 reward for his capture.”
“Ten thousand!” echoed Penny, her eyes sparkling. “I could use that money!”
Mr. Parker carefully laid down his knife and fork, fixing his daughter with a stern gaze.
“You’re to forget Danny Deevers,” he directed. “Just to make certain you do, I’ve arranged with Mr. DeWitt to give you a few days’ work at the office. Kindly report at one-thirty this afternoon for your first assignment.”
“Oh, Dad! Of all times—I had plans!”
“So I figured,” her father replied dryly. “Mr. DeWitt, I trust, will keep you busy until after Danny Deevers has been rounded up by the police.”
Penny knew that protests were quite useless, for when her father really set down his foot, he seldom changed his mind. At another time, she would have welcomed an opportunity to work at theStaroffice, but this day she regarded it as nothing less than punishment.
As her father had predicted, Penny was kept more than busy at the office. There were telephones to answer, obituaries to write, wire stories to redo, and a multitude of little writing jobs which kept her chained to a desk.
Penny pounded out page after page of routine copy, her face becoming longer and longer. Whenever the shortwave radio blared, she listened attentively. Never was there any news to suggest that police were even taking an interest in Danny Deevers’ escape.
“Oh, they’re working hard on the case,” Jerry assured her when she talked it over with him. “You’ll hear about it in good time.”
“Everyone treats me as if I were a child!” Penny complained. “Just wait! If ever I get any more information, I’m keeping it under my hat!”
For two long days she worked and suffered in the newspaper office. Then late one afternoon, Mr. DeWitt beckoned her to his desk.
“You act as if you need a little fresh air,” he said. “Take a run over to the Immigration Office. See a man named Trotsell. He’ll tell you about a boy who entered this country illegally. They’re looking for him now.”
“I’ll hippety-hop all the way!” Penny laughed, glad to escape from the office.
At the Immigration Building, Mr. Trotsell, an official of brisk manner and crisp speech, gave her the facts of the case in rapid-fire order.
“The boy is only sixteen,” he said. “His name is Anthony Tienta and he was befriended by G.I.’s in Europe. Early in the war, his parents were killed. Anthony was put in an orphan’s asylum by Fascists. He and another lad escaped to the mountains. For six months they lived in a cave on berries and what they could pilfer.”
“Interesting,” commented Penny, “but what is your connection with the case?”
“I’m coming to that. When G.I.’s entered Italy, Anthony left his mountain hideout to become a guide. He learned English and later joined an American division as a mascot. When the war ended, Anthony sought permission to come to this country and was turned down repeatedly.”
“So he stowed aboard a troopship?”
“Yes, we don’t know yet how he eluded Immigration officials in New York. Somehow he slipped into the country. Later he was traced to a farm in Michigan. We were closing in on him, when someone tipped him off and he fled. We know he’s somewhere in this state.”
“Near here?”
“It’s very possible. We thought if a story appeared in the paper, someone who has seen the boy may report to us.”
“Do you have a picture of him?”
“Unfortunately, no. He is sixteen, with dark eyes and dark, curly hair. The lad is athletic and very quick witted. His English is fairly good, heavily sprinkled with G.I. slang.”
“I’ll write the story for you,” Penny promised as she arose to leave. “The truth is, though, my sympathy is with Anthony.”
“So is mine,” replied the official. “However, that does not change the law. He entered this country illegally and must be returned to Italy.”
Penny left the office and was midway to the newspaper office when she bumped squarely into her friend, Louise Sidell, who had been downtown shopping.
“Oh, Lou!” she exclaimed. “I called you twice but you weren’t at home. Did Bones ever find his way back?”
Louise shook her head. “He never will either. Those men probably kept him on the island. I’m going out there tomorrow.”
“To the island?”
“If I can get Trapper Joe to take me. My father says I may offer him twenty-five dollars to help me get Bones back.”
“It was entirely my fault, Lou. I’ll pay the money.”
“You needn’t.”
“I want to,” said Penny firmly. “I’ve earned a little money the past two days at the newspaper office.”
The two girls walked together to the next corner.
“What time are you starting for Trapper Joe’s tomorrow?” Penny asked.
“I’d like to leave right after breakfast. Any chance you could take me in your car?”
“I was thinking the same thing,” grinned Penny. “It may take a little doing—but yes, I’m sure you can count on me! I’m long overdue for a date myself with Old Man Swamp!”
By eleven o’clock the next morning, the two girls were on their way to Caleb Corners in Penny’s car. Both wore high boots, heavy shirts, and riding breeches, having dressed carefully for the swamp.
“I had one awful time convincing Dad and Mrs. Weems I should make this trip,” Penny remarked as they parked the car under a giant oak not far from Trapper Joe’s shack on the river creek. “If we hadn’t had Bones for an excuse, they never would have allowed me to go.”
Louise stared curiously at her chum.
“Why else would we make the trip?” she inquired.
“Oh, we’re going there to find Bones,” Penny assured her hastily. “But if we should meet Ezekiel Hawkins or whoever was on the island—”
“My parents made it very clear I’m not to go to the island unless Trapper Joe is with us.”
“So did my father, unfortunately,” sighed Penny.
As the girls approached Trapper Joe’s shack, they saw smoke issuing in a straight column from the rear of the premises.
Investigating, they found the old guide roasting a fat turkey on a spit which slowly revolved above a fire of cherry red coals.
“Howdy,” the old man greeted them. “You’re jest in time fer some victuals.”
“Lunch so early?” Louise asked in surprise.
“It hain’t breakfast and it hain’t lunch,” the trapper chuckled. “I eat when I’m hongry, an’ right now I feel a hankerin’ fer food. Kin I give you a nice turkey leg?”
The girls looked at the delicately browned fowl and wavered.
“I’ll fetch you’uns each a plate,” the trapper offered.
From the shack he brought two cracked ones and forks with bent tines. To each of the girls he gave a generous helping, saving for himself a large slice of breast.
“What brings ye here today?” he presently asked. “Be ye aimin’ to rent my boat again?”
“Providing your services go with it,” Penny replied. “We want to search for Louise’s dog.”
“’Tain’t likely you’ll ever see him again.”
“All the same, we’ve planned on searching the island thoroughly. Will you take us?”
Trapper Joe tossed away a turkey bone as he observed: “There’s cottonmouths on that island and all manner o’ varmints.”
“That’s why we want you to go with us,” Penny urged. “We’ll be safe with you.”
“I hain’t so sartain I’ll be safe myself,” Joe argued. “My gun’s been stole. Some thieven scalawag made off with it late last night while I was skinnin’ an animal. Left it a-settin’ against a post down by the dock. The rascal took my gun and some salted meat I had in a crock!”
“Someone who came from the swamp?” Penny asked quickly.
“’Pears he must o’ come from there.”
“Could the thief have been one of the Hawkins family?”
“’Tain’t likely,” the guide replied. “They all got good guns o’ their own. Anyhow, the Hawkins’ hain’t never stooped so low they’d steal from a neighbor.”
“Will you take us in your boat?” Louise urged impatiently. “We’ll pay you well for your time. If we find Bones, you’ll receive an extra twenty-five dollars.”
“It hain’t the money. Lookin’ fer that dog would be like lookin’ fer a needle in a haystack.”
“You might accidently run into the person who stole your gun,” Penny suggested.
“Now, there’d be some sense to that,” the trapper said with sudden interest. “I’d like to lay hands on him!”
“Then you’ll go?” the girls demanded together.
“’Pears like I will,” he said, his leathery face cracking into a smile. “’Tain’t smart going into the swamp without a gun, but we kin trust to Providence an’ our wits, I calculate.”
Pleased that the trapper had consented, the girls leaped to their feet and started toward the skiff which was tied up at the dock.
“Not so fast!” the trapper brought them up short. “We got to take some water and some victuals with us.”
“But we’re not going far,” Louise said in surprise. “We just ate.”
“Ye can git mighty hongry and thirsty, rowin’ in a broiling hot sun. When I go into the swamp, I always takes rations along jest in case.”
“Surely you don’t expect to lose your way,” Penny said teasingly. “An old timer like you!”
“I’m an old timer ’cause I always prepares fer the wust,” the trapper retorted witheringly. “Many a young punk’s give his life being show-off and foolhardy in that swamp. I was lost there oncst years ago. I hain’t never forgot my lesson.”
Properly put in their places, Penny and Louise said no more as Trapper Joe prepared for the trip into the swamp. He wrapped the remains of the turkey in a paper, depositing it in a covered metal container in the bottom of the skiff.
Also, he dropped in a jug of water and an extra paddle.
“Tell us about the swamp,” Louise urged as they finally shoved off. “Is it filled with wild and dangerous animals?”
“Bears mostly been killed off,” the old trapper replied, sending the skiff along with powerful stabs of the oars. “The rooters are about the wust ye run into now.”
“Rooters?” Louise repeated, puzzled.
“Wild hogs. They got a hide so tough even the rattlers can’t kill ’em. It’s most likely yer dogs been et by one.”
“Oh, no!” Louise protested in horror.
“Rooters’ll go straight fer a dog or a deer or a lamb. They’ll attack a man too if they’re hongry enough. Their tusks are sharp as daggers.”
Penny quickly changed the subject by asking Trapper Joe if he thought Pretty Boy Danny Deevers might be hiding in the swamp.
“’Tain’t likely,” he replied briefly.
“Why do you think not?”
“City bred, waren’t he?”
“That’s what I was told.”
“No city bred feller could live in the swamp many days. He wouldn’t have sense enough to git his food; at night the sounds would drive him crazy, and he’d end up bein’ bit by a snake.”
“Yet someone stole your gun,” Penny reminded him.
“It waren’t Danny,” said the old trapper with finality.
The skiff glided on. As the sun rose high overhead pouring down upon their backs, Penny and Louise began to feel drowsy. Repeatedly, they reached for Joe’s jug of water.
As the channel became congested with floating plants and rotted logs, the trapper shipped the oars and used a paddle.
Presently they came within view of Lookout Island. In the bow, Penny leaned forward to peer at the jungle-like growth which grew densely to the water’s edge.
“Someone’s on the island!” she exclaimed in a low voice.
“Sure, it’s Coon Hawkins doin’ a little fishin’,” agreed the trapper. “His boat’s pulled up on the point.”
Louise stirred uneasily. “Is anyone with him?” she whispered.
“Don’t see no one ’cepting Coon. He won’t hurt ye. Harmless, ole Coon is, an’ mighty shiftless too.”
“But is Coon really fishing?” Penny demanded suspiciously.
“He’s got a pole and a string o’ fish.”
“Also, he’s watching us very closely,” whispered Penny. “I don’t trust him one bit! He’s hiding something on that island! I’ll be surprised if he doesn’t try to keep us from landing.”
The old trapper appeared not to have heard Penny’s whispered observation. He paddled the skiff on until it drifted within ten yards of the point where Coon Hawkins sat fishing.
“Howdy!” called the trapper.
“Howdy,” responded Coon, his gaze on the bobbing cork.
“Seen anything of a dog on the island?”
“Hain’t no animal hereabouts,” Coon replied.
“’Pears like the gals has lost a dog,” said the old trapper, dipping his paddle again. “We’re landin’ to have a look around.”
Coon’s gaze shifted from the cork to the party in the boat. He scowled and then coldly turned his back.
“Suit yerself,” he said indifferently. “You won’t find no dawg here.”
Trapper Joe beached the skiff very nearly where Penny had landed a few days earlier.
“Have a keer,” he advised as the girls trod through the muck. “Watch out fer snakes.”
“Here are Bones’ tracks!” Louise cried a moment later, spying the prints which led away from the shore.
A short distance in, the tracks abruptly ended, but nearby were prints of a man’s shoe and larger ones made from a heavy boot.
Trapper Joe noted them in silence, signaling for Penny and Louise to make no comment.
“Wait here while I look around,” he instructed.
Penny and Louise sat down on a mossy log to wait. Coon paid them no heed, completely ignoring their presence. The sun climbed higher overhead.
Presently the old trapper returned, his clothing soaked with perspiration.
“Did you see anything of Bones?” Louise asked eagerly.
“Nary a sign. The dog hain’t on the island.”
“Told ye, didn’t I?” Coon demanded triumphantly.
“That ye did, son,” agreed Trapper Joe. “We’ll be gittin’ along.” On his way to the skiff, he asked carelessly: “Come here offen, do ye?”
“When I feels like it,” Coon retorted.
“Fishin’ good?”
“Fair to middlin’.”
The old trapper helped the girls into the skiff and shoved off.
“Please, must we turn back now?” Louise asked earnestly. “I hate to return without finding a trace of poor old Bones.”
“’Tain’t likely you’ll ever see the dog again.”
“We realize that,” said Penny, “but it would be a satisfaction to keep looking.”
“If the dog was still alive, it hain’t likely he’d of swum away from the island.”
“He could have been carried,” Penny said, keeping her voice low.
The swamper stared steadily at her a moment, saying nothing.
“Besides, we’d like to go deeper into the swamp just to see it,” Penny urged, sensing that he was hesitating. “It must be beautiful farther in.”
“It is purty,” the old guide agreed. “But you have to be mighty keerful.”
“Do take us,” Louise pleaded.
The old trapper raised his eyes to watch a giant crane, and then slowly turned the skiff. As he sought a sluggish channel leading deeper into the swamp, Penny noticed that Coon Hawkins had shifted his position on the point, the better to watch them.
The skiff moved on into gloomy water deeply shadowed by overhanging tree limbs. Only then did Penny ask the trapper what he thought really had happened to Louise’s dog.
“’Tain’t easy to say,” he replied, resting on the paddle a moment and taking a chew of tobacco.
Penny sensed that the old man was unwilling to express his true opinion. He stared moodily at the sluggish water, lost in deep thought.
“The Hawkins’ are up to something!” Penny declared. She was tempted to reveal what she and Salt had seen a few nights before on the swamp road, but held her tongue.
“After all, what do I know about Joe?” she reflected. “He may be a close friend of the Hawkins family for all his talk about them being a shiftless lot.”
Penny remained silent. Sensing her disappointment because he had not talked more freely, Trapper Joe presently remarked:
“You know, things goes on in the swamp that it’s best not to see. Sometimes it hain’t healthy to know too much.”
“What things do you mean?” Penny asked quickly.
Old Joe however, was not to be trapped by such a direct question.
“Jest things,” he returned evasively. “Purty here, hain’t it?”
The guide was now paddling along a sandy shore. Overhead on a bare tree branch, two racoons drowsed after their midday meal.
“In this swamp there’s places where no man has ever set foot,” the guide continued. “Beyond Black Island, in the heart o’ the swamp, it’s as wild as when everything belonged to the Indians.”
“How does one reach Black Island?” Louise inquired.
“Only a few swampers that knows all the runs would dast go that far,” said Old Joe. “If ye take a wrong turn, ye kin float around fer days without findin’ yer way out.”
“Is there only one exit—the way we came in?” Penny asked.
“No, oncst ye git to Black Island, there’s a faster way out. Ye pick yer way through a maze o’ channels ’till ye come to the main one which takes ye to the Door River.”
“You’ve made the trip?”
“Did when I was young. Hain’t been to Black Island in years lately.”
“How long does the trip take?”
“Not many hours if ye know the trail. But if ye take a wrong twist, y’er apt to wind up anywheres. We’re headin’ toward Black Island now.”
“Then why not go on?” cried Penny eagerly. “It’s still early.”
The old guide shook his head as he paddled into deeper water. “It’s jest a long, hard row and there hain’t nothin’ there. I’m takin’ ye to a place where some purty pink orchids grow. Then we’ll turn back.”
Penny suddenly sat up very straight, listening intently.
From some distance away came a faint, metallic pounding sound.
“What’s that noise?” she asked, puzzled.
The old trapper also was listening alertly.
Again the strange noise was repeated. Bing-ping-ping! Ping-ping!
“It sounds like someone pounding on a sheet of metal!” exclaimed Penny. “I’d say it’s coming from the edge of the swamp—perhaps Lookout Island!”
The trapper nodded, still listening.
Again they heard the pounding which seemed in a queer pattern of dots and dashes.
“It’s a code!” Penny declared excitedly. “Perhaps a message is being sent to someone hiding here in the swamp!”
“In all the times I’ve been in these waters, I never before heard nothin’ like that,” the guide admitted. “I wonder—”
“Yes?” Penny prodded eagerly.
But the old guide did not complete the thought. The boat now was drifting in a narrow run where boughs hung low over the water, causing the three occupants to lean far forward to avoid being brushed.
A tiny scream came from Louise’s lips. The bow of the skiff where she sat had poked its nose against a protruding tree root.
Within inches of her face, staring unblinkingly into her eyes, was a large, ugly reptile!
“Steady! Steady!” warned the old swamper as Louise shrank back in horror from the big snake. “Don’t move or he’ll strike!”
Digging his paddle into the slimy bed of the narrow run, Trapper Joe inched the skiff backwards. Should the boat jar against the tree root, he knew the snake almost certainly would strike its poisonous fangs into Louise’s face.
“Hurry!” she whispered.
Slowly the skiff moved backwards through the still water, until at last it lay at a safe distance. The snake had not moved from its resting place.
Now that the danger was over, Louise collapsed with a shudder.
“You saved me!” she declared gratefully.
“It weren’t nothin’,” he replied as he sought another run. “There’s thousands o’ varmints like him in this swamp.”
“And to think Penny and I dared come here by ourselves the other day! We didn’t realize how dangerous it was!”
The incident had so unnerved both of the girls, that some minutes elapsed before they recalled the strange pounding sound which had previously held their attention.
“I don’t hear it now,” Penny said, listening intently. “Just before we ran into that snake, you were about to say something, Joe.”
The guide stopped paddling a moment. “Was I now?” he asked. “I don’t recollect.”
“We were talking about the strange noise. You said you never had heard anything like it before in the swamp. Then you added—‘I wonder—’”
“Jest a-thinkin’,” Joe said, picking up the paddle once more. “One does a lot o’ that in the swamp.”
“And not much talking,” rejoined Penny, slightly annoyed. “What do you think made the noise?”
“Couldn’t rightly say.”
Realizing it was useless to question the old man further, Penny dropped the subject. However, she was convinced that Joe had at least a theory as to the cause of the strange pounding sound.
“He knows a lot he isn’t telling,” she thought. “But I’ll never get a word out of him by asking.”
If Joe were unwilling to discuss the signal-like tappings, he showed no reluctance in telling the girls about the swamp itself.
Wild turkey, one of the wariest fowls in the area, could be found only on the islands far interior, they learned. Although there were more than a dozen species of snakes, only three needed to be feared, the rattlers, the coral snake, and the cottonmouth.
“Ye have to be keerful when yer passin’ under tunnels o’ overhanging limbs,” Old Joe explained. “Sometimes they’ll be hangin’ solid with little snakes.”
“Don’t tell us any more,” Louise pleaded. “I’m rapidly losing enthusiasm for this place!”
“Snakes mostly minds their own business ’less a feller goes botherin’ ’em,” Trapper Joe remarked. “Too bad more folks ain’t that way.”
The boat floated on, and the heat rising from the water became increasingly unpleasant. Penny mopped her face with a handkerchief and considered asking the old man to turn back.
Before she could speak, Joe who had been peering intently at the shore, veered the skiff in that direction.
“Are the orchids here?” Louise asked in surprise.
Old Joe shook his head. “Jest want to look at something,” he remarked.
He brought the skiff to shore, and looking carefully about for snakes, stepped out.
“May we go with you?” asked Penny, whose limbs had become cramped from sitting so long in one position.
“Kin if yer a mind to, but I only aim to look at that dead campfire.”
“A campfire?” Penny questioned. “Where?”
The old trapper pointed to a barren, dry spot a few feet back from the water’s edge, where a circle of ashes and a few charred pieces of wood lay.
“Why, I hadn’t noticed it,” Penny said. Wondering why the trapper should be interested in a campfire, she started to ask, but thought better of it. By remaining silent, she might learn—certainly not if she inquired directly.
Trapper Joe gazed briefly at the camp-site, kicking the dead embers with the toe of his heavy boot.
“Thet fire hain’t very old—must have been built last night,” he observed.
“By a swamper, I suppose,” said Penny casually. “One of the Hawkins’ family perhaps.”
“It hain’t likely they’d be comin’ here after nightfall. An’ that fire never was built by a swamper.”
“Then a stranger must be hiding in the area!” Penny cried. “Danny Deevers!”
“Maybe so, but Danny was city-bred and never could survive long in the wilds. One night here would likely be his last.”
“Supposing someone who knew the swamp were helping him?”
“Thet would make it easier, but it weren’t Danny Deevers who built this fire.”
“How can you be so positive?”
“Deevers was a big man, weren’t he?”
“Why, fairly large, I guess.”
“Then would he be leavin’ little tracks?” Joe pointed to several shoeprints visible in the soft muck. “This man, whoever he be, didn’t have anyone campin’ with him. Leastwise, there hain’t no tracks except from the one kind o’ shoe.”
“I guess you’re right,” agreed Penny, disappointed to have her theory exploded. “I wonder who did camp here?”
“I’m a-wonderin’ myself,” replied the old trapper. “If it’s the feller thet stole my gun, I’d like pow’ful well to catch up with him.”
Joe inspected the ground for some distance inland, satisfying himself that no one was about. As they returned to the boat, he said thoughtfully:
“Not in years heve I been as far as Black Island, but I’ve got an itch to go there now.”
“Good!” chuckled Penny. “I want to see the place myself.”
“It’s a long, hard row. I couldn’t rightly take you’uns.”
“Why not?”
“Fer one thing, I hain’t sure what I’ll find at the island.”
“All the better,” laughed Penny.
But the old trapper was not to be persuaded. “The trip ain’t one fer young’uns. Likewise, with three in a boat, it’s hard goin’. Part o’ the way, the run’s so shallow, ye have to pole.”
“In a polite way, he’s telling us we’re excess baggage,” Louise said, grinning at Penny. “To me it sounds like a long, hot trip.”
“I kin go another day,” said the trapper. “There hain’t no hurry.”
“But you’re well on your way there now,” Penny remarked. “How long would it take to go and return here—that is, if you went alone?”
“Two hours if I made it fast.”
“Then why not go?” Penny urged generously. “Isn’t there somewhere Louise and I could wait?”
“Without a boat?” Louise interposed in alarm.
“I hain’t suggestin’ ye do it,” said the old trapper. “But there is a safe place ye could wait.”
“Where?” asked Penny.
“On the plank walk.”
“Does it extend so far into the swamp?”
“This is a section of an old walk that was put in years ago,” Joe explained. “It used to hook up with the planking at the entranceway, but it went to pieces. Folks never went to the trouble to rebuild this section.”
“All right, take us there,” Penny urged, ignoring Louise’s worried frown. “If we’re above the water, we should be safe enough.”
The old trapper rowed the girls on a few yards to a series of shallow bays where water lilies and fragrant pink orchids grew in profusion. As they drew in their breath at the beautiful sight, he chuckled with pleasure.
“Purty, hain’t it?” he asked. “Gatherin’ posies should keep ye busy for awhile. The boardwalk’s right here, and goes on fer quite a spell before it plays out. If ye stay on the walk, you’ll be safe until I git back.”
Louise gazed with misgiving at the old planks which were decayed and broken. As she and Penny alighted, the boards swayed at nearly every step.
“I’ll pick ye up right here, soon’s I can,” the old guide promised. “If ye keep to the shade, ye won’t git so much sunburn.”
“What if you shouldn’t get back before nightfall,” Louise said nervously. “Wouldn’t we be stranded here?”
“I’ll git back.”
“Where does the walk lead?” Penny asked.
“Nowheres in particular any more. Ye’d best not foller it far. Jest wait fer me purty close here, and I’ll be back soon’s I kin.”
Reaching into the bottom of the skiff, the trapper tossed a parcel of lunch to Penny.
“Here’s some meat if ye git hongry while I’m gone. Mind ye stay on the planks!”
With this final warning, Joe paddled away and soon was lost to view behind the tall bushes.