They were, indeed, going into a new country, that is, a new and strange
country to them, but really a very cold country if they were to believe
the signs about them. They were scarcely out of sight of the camp-fire
site when they stumbled on to the ruins of the old town of St. Joseph.
It had evidently been a gay and prosperous place at one time. The
outlines of the foundations of huge cotton warehouses were distinctly
traceable and the ground was littered with pieces of broken bricks. A
little farther on they found a foundation almost half full of broken
champagne bottles, and beyond that the oval of a racetrack almost
uncanny in its appearance of recent use. There were certain things about
it which made it seem as though the place had been suddenly destroyed by
an earthquake or other catastrophe only a short time before. It was very
hard to realize that there had been no one living there for eighty
years.
It was a question with the boys whether they would push on west along
the beach in the hope of striking a town in that direction or whether
they would turn north to the main-line railroad. Their experience with
the blind pocket which they had gotten into the night before made them a
little afraid of the beach, and they had no idea how far it might be in
that direction before they would come to a town. They knew that the
railroad could not be over forty miles north and thought it would be
reasonable to expect to find some settlement in that direction. Food was
beginning to be a serious consideration.
They stood on the edge of the old town and looked about them. Each knew
what was in the other’s mind.
“Let’s try it to the north,” Murphy suggested. “There ought to be some
grub somewhere up in that direction.”
That agreed pretty well with Scott’s decisions and they turned toward
the north. The country was about as forlorn-looking as any that Scott
had ever seen. The big timber had been cut away for some miles, probably
to supply the old town, and there was nothing left but a scattering
stand of scrub oak on the flat, white sand, with now and then a small
patch of scrub palmetto. Aside from the old and blackened stumps there
was not a trace of the civilization which had at one time flourished so
near there. They had been traveling through this dismal waste for about
an hour.
“Don’t look much like anything to eat around here!” Scott exclaimed in
disgust.
Murphy did not reply. He was too hungry for words, but after about a
half-hour’s silence he answered:
“Wonder why a fellow has to think about something he can’t get all the
time. I try to think about something as far away from food as I can and
in two minutes I’m longing for a beefsteak again.”
Scott had been trying the same thing and knew that it was true. But they
both felt that their strength would hold out for the day all right and
they would surely find some habitation before the end of the day. The
sand was not soft enough to bother them and they were making good time.
At least they did not have to worry about the men who were looking for
them over there to the east.
They must have covered about six miles in this way when the same old
curse of this country loomed up in front of them in the form of a swamp
which stretched as far as they could see to east and west. They both
sighted it at about the same time and looked at each other in utter
disgust.
“I am for going straight through her,” Scott exclaimed determinedly, “if
she is ten miles wide and a mile deep. If you follow the edge of it west
it will probably lead to a quicksand on the beach, and if you follow it
east you will end up on that same neck where those fellows are waiting
for us. This country seems to have been built for their special
benefit,” he added bitterly.
“I’m with you,” Murphy agreed doggedly. “I’d rather drown than be
starved to death.”
So they held to their course and traveled straight toward the great
black swamp. It might have looked like courage to an onlooker, but they
themselves knew that it was desperation. If it happened to be a narrow
one they would get through all right; if it was a wide one, well—they
probably could not do much better by trying to get around.
They were not more than a hundred yards from the swamp when Scott
stopped with an exclamation of surprise. They had come upon a distinct
trail angling across their course. There were no footprints in it now,
but it was a broad trail such as people make, and showed evidence of
having been considerably used at no very distant date.
“What do you suppose that is?” Scott asked wonderingly.
Murphy looked at it with little interest. He could not eat it and he no
longer had any interest in anything unless it gave promise of dinner.
“Leads down to that logging camp unless my geography is crooked and we
might as well follow it to the swamp. It’s going our way.”
“Maybe it goes through the swamp,” Scott suggested with a flash of hope.
“Wonder where those fellows did get their supplies from? I should think
they would have been afraid to get them from the river boats. It would
have made their place too conspicuous.”
They followed the trail with curiosity even if without much hope and saw
it duck into the heavy brush. As he ducked in after it Scott uttered a
shout of triumph. There was a boat chained to a tree at the end of the
trail. Like the trail it was far from new but showed signs of use at a
comparatively recent date.
Murphy’s spirits came up with a bound. “Well,” he exclaimed, “this is
the first piece of real luck we have had in some time. That boat looks
almost as good to me as a loaf of bread.”
The question of ownership never entered their heads. They had been in
dire need of a boat and Providence had provided one. There were no
questions asked. There were no oars, but Murphy cut a pole with his
hunting knife and they were soon skimming over the water merrily.
“Set your course due north, boy, and point it out to me, that’s all I
ask!” he exclaimed, as he heaved away on the pole. “That swamp water
does not look so bad from a boat, does it?”
They had gone with one bound from the dumps of despair to the summit of
hope and they were so happy they felt silly. They had not realized how
worried they really were. Now nothing seemed impossible. They felt
perfectly confident that all their troubles were over and they would
soon be at headquarters reporting their great discovery.
They were well out in the swamp, probably a half mile or more when
Murphy gave a shout and redoubled his efforts with the pole. Scott
thought he had sighted dry land again and stood up in the boat to see.
Instead of land it was a house built up on piles in the middle of the
swamp.
“Surely no one lives in that house away out there!” Scott exclaimed.
“Probably not,” Murphy replied cheerfully; “but there may be something
to eat in it just the same.” And he headed for the house.
There was no smoke coming out of the chimney and nothing to show that it
was occupied or had been for some time. The porch in front of it was
really a landing with steps coming down to the water. They shouted but
there was no answer. Scott thought they were wasting time in stopping
there at all, but Murphy was determined to see if there was anything
there to eat. He declared that he would never forgive himself if he
passed it up now and found out later that there was food in it.
They tied the boat to the steps and went to the door. Murphy pushed it
open gently and looked in. It was rather dark inside and it was a few
minutes before their eyes became accustomed to the half light. Then
things loomed up plainly and Murphy uttered a shout of satisfaction. The
shelves all along one corner of the building were piled with provisions
of all kinds. A number of bunks were built against the wall at the other
end of the building, but they paid very little attention to that except
to glance at them to make sure there was no one there. Their interest
was centered in those shelves.
“Whew!” Murphy whistled as he gloated over the great store of
provisions, “wouldn’t we have been sore if we had passed this up? I
don’t know who lives here, but I am going to have one full meal on him
whoever he is. Gee! he has enough stuff here to stand a siege of six
months.”
“Strange!” Scott pondered as he looked over the supplies. “It does not
look as though any one had lived here for several months at least and
yet these provisions are all fresh and could not have been here such a
great while. This looks like an old house on the outside but from the
looks of the floors I don’t believe it has ever been lived in much. I
don’t understand it.”
“I am not going to try to understand it till I have had my fill of this
bacon and flapjacks. What do you want, tea or coffee? He, whoever he is,
has them both here.” Murphy did not seem to care whether the provisions
belonged to man or devil, and felt that the mystery could wait for a
solution till he had satisfied his appetite.
Scott built a fire in the stove for Murphy and then returned to look
things over some more. Suddenly he uttered an exclamation of such
profound astonishment that even Murphy paused in his cooking to see what
had happened. Scott had found a sales slip wrapped up with one of the
bundles and the groceries listed on it were charged to Mr. Roberts.
“By cracky!” Scott exclaimed, looking at Murphy with eyes round with
surprise, “I have it. This is the very cabin where those fellows are
coming to hide. They keep it stocked up for just such an emergency.”
The fact that they had walked into the very den of the scoundrels who
had been out gunning for them all the night before and were probably
even then on their way there startled them a little at first. But
nothing could divert Murphy’s attention from his frying pan for very
long.
“Oh, well,” he said philosophically, “we have their boat, so they are
not likely to get here before we have finished dinner. Nothing could
stop me from eating now; it would take more than that outfit to spoil my
appetite.”
A little chuckle of satisfaction died on Scott’s lips. It would be a
good joke on the thieves to find their boat gone just when they needed
it, but where would they go if they could not get to the hiding place
they had prepared? They might get suspicious and go somewhere else where
no trace could be found of them.
“I wonder if they have another boat anywhere?” he exclaimed. “I wish we
had not taken this one.”
“Don’t worry,” Murphy replied as he chewed a piece of half-cooked bacon,
“I don’t think they would be likely to abandon a place which they have
prepared and fixed up the way they have this one. At least they would
not give it up so easily.”
“No use in worrying about it now, anyway. We can’t take the boat back
without running too much risk and any damage we have done cannot be
helped. We’ll eat all of their grub we can and then beat it on across
the swamp. We will get Qualley when he comes back to the camp and I have
a sneaking idea that it would not take much to make him tell on the
other fellows.”
“Any one of them would hang all the others for a plugged nickel,” Murphy
growled contemptuously.
So they made the best of their opportunities and gave no further thought
to the future trouble they might be piling up for themselves. There was
unlimited food and for a long time there seemed to be no end to their
appetites, but they were satisfied at last and stretched out on a couple
of the benches in supreme contentment.
“Gee!” Murphy exclaimed, “I’m full right up to my Adam’s apple and I’d
like to stay right here and sleep for a week.”
But instead of sleeping they both sat suddenly bolt upright and stared
wide-eyed at each other. The sound of voices came to them very
distinctly.