"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.
The _Star_ has 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 the _Star_ office, 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!"
CHAPTER
13
_INTO THE 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."
CHAPTER
14
_A CODE MESSAGE_
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!
CHAPTER
15
_BEYOND THE BOARDWALK_
"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.
CHAPTER
16
_TREED BY A BOAR_
Left to themselves, Penny and Louise walked a few steps on the sagging
planks which had been nailed to tree stumps. The boards beneath them
creaked protestingly and dipped nearly into the water.
"We must have been crazy!" Louise exclaimed. "We'll die of boredom
waiting here. Two hours too!"
"It is a long time."
"And if Joe shouldn't come back, we're stranded--absolutely stranded."
"We did take a chance, Louise, but I'm sure Joe can be trusted."
"He seems all right, but what do we really know about him?" Louise
argued. "If anything queer is going on here in the swamp, he may be mixed
up in it!"
"I thought about that," Penny admitted. "Anyway, if we're to learn
anything, we had to take a certain amount of chance. I'm sure everything
will be all right."
Slowly they walked on along the rickety planks, now and then bending down
to pluck a water lily. Louise quickly jerked back her hand as a water
snake slithered past.
"Ugh!" she gasped. "Another one of those horrid things!"
Interested to learn where the planks led, the girls followed the
bridge-like trail among the trees. Louise, however, soon grew tired. As
they presently came to a stump which offered a perfect resting place, she
sat down.
"This is as far as I'm going," she announced.
"But we have lots of time to explore, Louise. Don't you want to learn
where this boardwalk goes?"
"Not at the risk of falling into the water! At any rate, I'm tired. If
you want to explore, go on alone. I'll wait for you here."
Penny hesitated, reluctant to leave her chum alone.
"Sure you won't mind, Louise?"
"I'd much rather wait here. Please go on. I know you'll never rest until
you reach the end of the walk."
Thus urged. Penny, with the package of lunch still tucked under her arm,
picked her way carefully along.
The board path curved on between the trees for some distance only to end
abruptly where boards had rotted and floated away. After a break of
several yards, the walk picked up again for a short ways, but Penny had
no intention of wading through water to follow it further.
Pausing to rest before starting back, she noticed beyond the water oaks a
narrow stretch of higher land covered with dense, wild growth. Above the
trees a huge buzzard soared lazily.
"Ugly bird!" she thought, watching its flight.
Penny was about to turn and retrace her steps, when she noticed something
else--footsteps in the muck not far from the end of the boardwalk.
"Someone has been here recently," she reflected. "Those prints must have
been made since the last rain."
Even from some distance away. Penny could see that the shoemarks were
small ones.
"Probably the person who made them is the same fellow who built the
campfire," she thought. "Wonder where the footprints lead?"
Penny tried to draw her eyes away, but the footprints fascinated and
challenged her. She longed to investigate them further. However, she had
not forgotten Trapper Joe's warning that it was unsafe to leave the
boardwalk.
"If I watch out for snakes and only go a short ways, what harm can it
do?" she reasoned.
A moment more and Penny was off the walk, treading her way cautiously
along the muddy bank. She paused to listen.
All was very quiet--so still that it gave the girl an uneasy feeling, as
if she were being watched by a multitude of hostile eyes.
The footprints led to a large tree in a fairly open area. On one of the
low, overhanging bushes, a bit of dark wool had been snagged.
"Someone climbed up there either to rest or sleep," Penny thought.
In the bushes close by, the girl heard a faint, rustling sound.
"Who's there?" she called sharply.
No one answered. All was still for a moment. Then again she heard the
whisper of disturbed leaves.
Penny's flesh began to creep. Suddenly losing all interest in the
footprints, she decided to beat a hasty retreat to the boardwalk.
The decision came too late. Before she could move, a dozen big rooters
led by an old gray boar, swarmed out of the bushes, surrounding her.
Too frightened and startled to cry out, Penny huddled back against the
tree trunk. The rooters had spread out in a circle and slowly were coming
closer.
Retreat to the safety of the boardwalk was completely cut off. The leader
of the pack now was so near that she plainly could see his razor-sharp
ivory tusks. In another moment, the animal would attack.
Throwing off the paralysis of fear which gripped her, Penny swung herself
into the lowermost branch of the big trees. The package of lunch she had
carried, dropped from her hand, falling at the base of the trunk.
Instantly, the rooters were upon it, tearing savagely at the meat and at
each other. Sick with horror, Penny clung desperately to the tree limb.
"If I slip now, I'm a gonner!" she thought. "Those rooters are half
starved. If I fall, they'll attack me!"
Penny considered shouting for Louise, but dismissed the thought as
quickly as it came. Her chum probably was too far away to hear her cries.
If she did come, unarmed as she was, she might leave the boardwalk only
to endanger herself.
"Louise can't help me," Penny told herself. "I brought this on myself by
not heeding Old Joe's warning. Now it's up to me to get out of the mess
the best way I can."
The girl lay still on the limb, trying not to draw the attention of the
rooters. Once they finished the meat, she was hopeful they would go away.
Then she could make a dash for the walk.
Grunting and squealing, the rooters devoured the meat and looked about
for more. To Penny's relief, they gradually wandered off--all except the
old boar.
The leader of the pack stayed close to the big tree, eyeing the girl in
the tree wickedly. Even in the dim light she could plainly see his evil
little eyes and working jaws.
"Go away you big brute!" she muttered.
Penny's perch on the limb was a precarious one and her arms began to ache
from the strain of holding on. Unsuccessfully, she tried to shift into a
more comfortable position.
"I may be treed here for hours!" she thought. "Can I hold on that long?"
The old boar showed no disposition to move off, but kept circling the
tree. It seemed to the now desperate Penny, that the animal sensed she
was weakening and only awaited the moment when she would tumble down to
the ground.
Breaking off a small tree branch she hurled it defiantly at the boar. The
act caused her to lose her balance. Frantically, she clawed for a
foothold but could not obtain it. Down she slipped to the base of the
tree.
The old boar, quick to see his opportunity, charged. With a scream of
terror, Penny leaped aside and the animal rushed past, squealing in rage
at having missed his prey.
Even now, the boar stood between the girl and the plank walk. The tree
from which she had fallen, offered her only refuge, and as she measured
her chances, she realized that the probability of regaining the limb was
a slim one.
The boar had turned and was coming for her again.
But at that instant, as Penny froze in terror, a shot was fired from
somewhere in the bushes behind her. The bullet went straight and true,
stopping the boar in his tracks. He grunted, rolled over, twitched twice,
and lay still.
CHAPTER
17
_RESCUE_
With a sob of relief, Penny whirled around to thank her rescuer. Through
the thick leaves of the bushes she could see the shadowy figure of a man.
But even as she watched, he retreated.
"Wait!" the girl cried.
There was no answer, and before she could call out a word of thanks for
deliverance, the man had vanished.
His disappearance reminded her that though she had been snatched from the
jaws of death, the danger by no means was over. At any moment the herd of
rooters might return to attack.
Turning, Penny ran swiftly to the planked walk, in her haste not watching
where she stepped. Her boots sank deeply in muck. Once on the planks well
above the water level, she paused to catch her breath, and to gaze
searchingly toward the bushes. All now was still.
"Who could my rescuer have been?" she mused. "Why didn't he wait for me
to thank him?"
Penny called several times but received no reply. Finally, giving up, she
started slowly back along the walk toward the bay where she had left
Louise.
More than the girl realized, the adventure had unnerved her. She felt
weak all over, and several times as she gazed steadily at the water,
became dizzy and nearly lost her balance.
"Guess I'm not tough enough for swamp life," she reflected. "If ever I
get out of here in one piece, I'm tempted to forget Danny Deevers and let
the police do all the searching."
Footsteps became audible on the boardwalk some distance away.
Every sense now alert to danger, Penny halted to listen.
Someone was coming toward her, moving swiftly on the creaking planks.
"Penny!" called an agitated voice.
Penny relaxed as she knew that it was her chum. "Louise!" she answered,
running to meet her.
Rounding a clump of bushes, and walking gingerly on the narrow boards,
Louise stopped short as she beheld her friend.
"Why, you're as white as a ghost!" she exclaimed. "And I distinctly heard
you shout! What happened? Did you see a snake?"
"A snake would be mild compared to what I've been through. Were you ever
eaten alive?"
"Not that I recall."
"Well, I escaped it by the skin of my teeth," Penny said, rather
relishing the adventure now that the story made such good telling. "I was
saved by a mysterious stranger!"
Louise gazed at her chum anxiously and reached out to touch her forehead.
"You're hot and feverish," she insisted. "This trip has been too much for
you."
"I'm as cool as a piece of artificial ice!" Penny retorted. "Furthermore,
I'm not touched by the heat!"
"Well, something is wrong with you."
"I've just had the fright of my life, that's all. If you'll give me a
chance, I'll tell you what happened."
"The stage is all yours, sweet. But don't give me any tall tale about
being rescued by a Prince Charming disguised as a frog!"
Penny's lips compressed into a tight line. "I can see you'll never
believe the truth, Lou. So I'll prove it to you! Come with me, and I'll
show you the animal that nearly made mince meat of me."
Treading single file, the girls returned the way Penny had come, to the
end of the planks.
"Look over at the base of that big tree," Penny instructed, pointing.
"What do you see?"
"Nothing."
"The boar that was shot--why, it should be there!" Penny scarcely could
believe the sight of her own eyes. "But it's gone!"
"It's gone because it never was there. Penny, you're suffering from too
much heat."
"I'm not! Neither am I imagining things! That old boar was there ten
minutes ago. Either he came back to life and went off, or someone dragged
him away."
"And your mysterious rescuer?" Louise teased. "What became of him?"
"I wish I knew! Lou, I'm not imagining any of this! Surely you must have
heard the shot?"
"Well, I did hear something that sounded like one."
"Also, the lunch is gone. All that remains of it, is the paper lying over
there by the tree."
"I do see a newspaper," Louise conceded.
"And that broken tree branch lying on the ground? I was up the tree and
threw it at the boar. That's how I lost my balance and fell."
Louise now was convinced the story had solid foundation. "Start from the
beginning," she urged.
Penny related what had occurred, rather building up the scene in which
she had been delivered from death by the bullet shot from behind a bush.
"Whoever the man is, he must be somewhere close by," Louise said when she
had finished. "Perhaps we can find him."
"Not a chance! He's deliberately hiding. Besides, I know better than to
leave the walk again. It's dangerous!"
"In that case we may as well go back and wait for Joe," Louise said.
Treading their way carefully, the girls returned to the far end of the
boardwalk. To their surprise, they saw a boat approaching.
"Why, it looks like Joe in the skiff!" Penny commented. "But he isn't due
back for a long while yet."
Watching the oncoming boat for a moment, Louise said: "It's Joe all
right, and he's coming fast. Something must be wrong."
Soon the guide brought the skiff alongside the sagging boardwalk.
"I heard a shot and started back," he explained. "I sure am glad to see
both o' ye safe."
Before Penny could do so, Louise told Joe what had befallen her chum.
"Ye could have been kilt by that old boar," he said soberly. "It was the
package o' meat that drew them rooters to the tree. They hain't likely to
attack a human lest they're half starved."
"I wish I knew who saved me," Penny said. "Could it have been one of the
Hawkins' boys?"
"From the sound, I'd say that shot weren't fired from their rifles.
More'n likely it came from my own gun!"
"The stolen one?"
"That's what I'm a-thinkin'. If I could see the bullet that was fired, I
could tell fer sure."
"The boar disappeared and the bullet with him," Penny said. "That's
another queer thing."
"Whoever kilt the critter may have drug him off, or maybe the animal was
only stunned." The guide squinted at the lowering sun. "I'd like powe'ful
well to see the place, but it's gitten late. We gotta git back."
"What did you learn at Black Island?" Louise asked as she and Penny
climbed into the skiff.
"Never got half way there," the guide said in disgust. "Since I went in
last time, the main channel's clogged thick with hyacinths. To find yer
way in now's a half day's job."
"Can't we try again tomorrow?" Penny asked eagerly.
The old guide gazed at her quizzically as he dipped his paddle. "Hain't
ye had enough o' the swamp after today, young'un?"
"When that old boar came for me, I told myself if ever I got safely away,
I'd never come again. But that was only a passing impulse. Black Island
interests me."
"It's the most dangerous part of the swamp."
"Because of wild animals, you mean?"
"There's lots wuss things than animals," said the old guide soberly.
"For instance?"
Trapper Joe ignored Penny's question. Becoming as one deaf, he propelled
the skiff with powerful strokes.
Penny waited patiently, but the guide showed no inclination to say more
about Black Island.
"Shall we make it tomorrow?" she inquired presently.
"Make what?" Joe's wrinkled face was blank.
"Why, I mean, shall we visit Black Island!"
"I hate to disappoint ye, but we hain't a-goin'."
"You may be busy tomorrow. Later in the week perhaps?"
"Not tomorrer nor never. I hain't takin' the responsibility o' bringin'
ye young'uns into the swamp agin."
"But why?" wailed Penny. "I wish now I hadn't told you about that old
boar!"
"It hain't the boar that's got me worried."
"Then you must be afraid of something on Black Island--something you
learned today and are keeping to yourself!"
"Maybe that's it," returned Joe briefly. "Anyhow, we hain't goin'. And it
won't do no good to try coaxin' me with yer female wiles. My mind's made
up!"
Having delivered himself of this ultimatum, the guide plied his paddle
steadily.
The set of his jaw warned Penny it would be useless to tease. With a
discouraged sigh, she settled down into the bottom of the skiff to think.
CHAPTER
18
_WANTED--A GUIDE_
Since the eventful trip to the swamp, several days now had elapsed, and
from Penny's viewpoint, nothing of consequence had happened.
Each day the _Riverview Star_ carried a story giving details of the
police search for Danny Deevers, and on each succeeding morning the
account became shorter, with less new information.
Twice, it was rumored police were closing in on the escaped convict, and
twice the rumor proved false.
At the request of Salt Sommers and Jerry Livingston, posses made several
searches of the outer swamp area. However, no trace of the missing man
was found, and investigators quickly switched their activities elsewhere.
Spurred by the _Star's_ reward offer, clues, anonymous and otherwise,
came to both the newspaper and police officials. All proved worthless.
"It begins to look as if Danny has pulled out of this territory," Mr.
Parker remarked to Penny late one afternoon as she sat in his office at
the plant. "At least he's made no further attempt to carry out his threat
against Jerry."
"Maybe he's only lying low and waiting until the police search cools off
a little."
"Quite possible," the publisher agreed, frowning as he fingered a
paperweight. "In that case, Jerry is in real danger. I'll never feel
entirely easy in my mind until Deevers is behind bars again."
"Speaking of me, Chief?" inquired a voice from the doorway.
Jerry stood there, a long streamer of pasted copy paper in his hand. He
had written a story of a political squabble at city hall, and needed Mr.
Parker's approval before handing it over to the typesetters.
The publisher quickly read the article, pencilled an "okay" at the top,
and returned it to the reporter.
"Good stuff, Jerry," he approved. "By the way, any news of Danny
Deevers?"
"Nothing new."
"Jerry, I can't help feeling he's hiding either in the swamp or somewhere
close by," Penny interposed eagerly. "At least something queer is going
on out there."
"That's what Salt thinks. We were out there last night."
"In the swamp?" Penny asked, caught by surprise.
"Not in it, but near the Hawkins' place."
"What did you learn, Jerry?"
"Frankly, nothing. You remember that swamp road where you and Salt saw
the truck?"
"Yes, of course."
"We watched there for quite awhile around midnight."
"Did you see the truck stop there again?"
"No, but we thought we saw a couple of men at the edge of the
swamp--apparently waiting for someone. We tried to sneak up close, but
I'm afraid we gave ourselves away. Anyway, they vanished back among the
trees."
"Did you notice or hear anything else unusual, Jerry?"
"Well, no. Not unless you'd call pounding on a dishpan out of the
ordinary."
"A dishpan!" Penny exclaimed. "Who did it?"
"We couldn't tell. Salt and I heard the sound soon after we had passed
the Hawkins' place on our way toward the swamp."
"What sort of sound was it?"
"Just a metallic tap-tap-tap. It may not have been on a dishpan."
"Were the taps in code, Jerry?"
"Couldn't have been a very complicated one for the pounding only lasted a
minute or two. It was irregular though."
"Then I'm sure it was a code!" Penny cried. "Louise and I heard the same
sound when we were with Trapper Joe in the boat!"
"Did the noise come from outside the swamp?"
"Inside, I'd say."
"Then we may not have heard the same thing. The pounding noise Salt and I
noticed, came from the direction of the Hawkins' farm. It may have had no
significance."
Before Jerry could say more, Editor DeWitt called him to the copy desk.
Mr. Parker turned again to his daughter.
"Penny, if I were you, I'd try to forget Danny Deevers," he advised.
"Whatever you do, don't go into the swamp again unless you're with Joe or
another guide. Better still, don't go at all."
"Oh, Dad!"
"No good can come of it. Do I have your promise, Penny?"
"But I feel I should try to recover Louise's dog!"
"We'll buy her a new pet."
"It won't be Bones."
"The chance that the dog ever will be found is slim," Mr. Parker said.
"In any case, he's not worth the risk of trying to find him. Your
promise, Penny?"
"That I won't go in without a guide?" she asked, seizing upon the lesser
of two evils. "All right, I promise."
The next day it rained, keeping Penny closely confined at home. However,
the following morning gave promise of being sunny and pleasant.
Arising early, she packed a lunch for herself, dressed in hiking clothes
with heavy boots, and was ready to leave the house by the time Mrs. Weems
came downstairs for breakfast.
"Up so early, Penny?" she inquired.
"Just going on a little trip. Don't expect me back very early."
The housekeeper regarded her severely. "Penny Parker, you're not going to
the swamp again!"
"Figured I might."
"Does your father know you're going?"
"We talked it over a day or so ago. He doesn't mind so long as I go with
Trapper Joe or another guide."
"In that case I suppose I can't object," Mrs. Weems sighed. "Mind, you
don't set foot in the swamp without someone along!"
"I've already given my promise to Dad."
"And do be careful," the housekeeper added. "I'll not feel easy until
you're back."
Though neither she nor Penny knew it then, the girl's absence from home
was to be a long one, and both were to have many uncomfortable moments
before her return.
Reaching the swamp sometime later, Penny parked the car and walked to
Trapper Joe's shack on the creek.
The old guide was sitting on the sagging porch, his feet propped on the
railing. Catching sight of Penny he frowned slightly, but as she came up,
greeted her in a friendly way.
"'Mawnin'," he said briefly. "What's on yer mind this time?"
"Can't you guess?" Penny asked, sitting down on a step at his feet.
"If yer wantin' me to take you into the swamp agin, yer only wastin' yer
words. I hain't got the time."
"I'll pay you well."
"It hain't the money."
"Then why do you refuse to take me in?"
"Tole ye, didn't I? I got work to do."
Penny knew that Joe was only making excuses, for obviously, one day was
very like another in his care-free life.
"What work do you have this morning that can't wait, Joe?"
"Well, fer one thing I gotta smoke out a swarm o' bees and git me a nice
mess o' honey fer winter. Want to go with me?"
"Into the swamp?"
"No, this tree hain't in the swamp."
"Then I don't want to go. Joe, I think you're stubborn! You know how much
this trip means to me."
"Reckon I do."
"Then why not take me? Tell me your reason for refusing."
Old Joe gazed steadily at Penny and for a moment seemed on the verge of
making interesting revelations. But to her disappointment, he shook his
head.
"Jest don't wanter go, thet's all."
"You learned something the other day when we were in the swamp!" Penny
accused. "You're keeping it from me--probably to protect someone! Isn't
that it?"
"Hain't saying."
"You know Danny Deevers is hidden somewhere in the swamp! You're helping
to protect him!"
Old Joe's feet came down from the railing with a thump. "Now that hain't
so!" he denied. "I got no time fer the likes o' Danny Deevers. If I
knowed where he is, I'd give him up to the law."
"Well, someone is hiding there! I heard Ezekiel Hawkins talking on
Lookout Point, didn't I? We found the dead campfire. Your gun was stolen,
and later a mysterious person rescued me when I was treed by the boar."
"Could have been one o' the Hawkins."
"You don't honestly believe that, Joe."
"No, reckon I don't," the guide sighed. "You sure kin shoot questions at
a feller faster'n these new Army rockets I hear tell about. I'd like to
tell ye what ye want to know, but there's things best not talked about.
Knowin' too much kin be dangerous."
Penny scarcely could hide her annoyance, for several times now the guide
had made similar hints.
"I don't trust the Hawkins' family at all," she announced. "If they're
not involved with Danny Deevers, they're up to something here in the
swamp. Otherwise, why would they be so mean?"
"The Hawkins' family always has been mean an' ornery."
"Another thing--" Penny started to mention how she and Salt had seen
large containers of some unknown product being removed from the swamp,
but broke off as she decided to keep the information to herself.
"Yeah?" inquired the guide.
"Nothing," replied Penny. "If you won't take me into the swamp, is there
anyone else who will?"
"Couldn't say fer sure," Joe replied, "but I reckon I'm the only guide
herebouts fer maybe fifty miles."
"Won't you reconsider?"
"You put up a powe'ful strong argument, young'un, but I gotta say no fer
yer own good."
"You've certainly ruined all my plans," Penny said crossly. "Well, since
you won't help me, I'll say goodbye."
Back in the car once more, she could not bring herself to return home so
early in the morning. Debating a moment, she drove to the homestead of
the Widow Jones.
Dressed in a bright calico dress, the woman sat under a shade tree
skillfully cutting up the meat of a turtle and dropping it into a pan of
cold water.
As Penny walked across the weed-choked yard, she looked up in a startled
way, but smiled as she recognized the girl.
"I'm fixin' to have me a nice soup," she explained. "Ye cook the turtle
with diced carrots, potatoes, okra, and tomatoes and serve it piping hot.
Ever et any?"
"No, I never have," Penny replied, watching the preparations with
interest. "It sounds good."
"Ye kin stay and have dinner with me," the woman invited. "I'll fix some
flour biscuits and we'll have a right nice meal."
"I'm afraid I'll have to get back home," Penny said regretfully. "My trip
here today was a failure."
Because the Widow Jones gave her an inquiring look of sympathy, she
explained that Trapper Joe had refused to take her into the swamp. She
went on to tell why the trip meant so much to her, and of her belief that
a clever investigator who knew the area might find clues which would lead
to the capture of Danny Deevers.
"So Joe wouldn't take ye?" the Widow Jones inquired softly. "Why?"
"He says it's dangerous."
"And since when has Joe got so a-feared of his shadow?"
"It did sound like an excuse to me. I think he knows what is going on in
the swamp, and wants no part of it."
"Ye say it means a lot to ye to make the trip?"
"Oh, yes, I'd do it in a minute, if I could find anyone who knows the
channels. But Joe says he's the only guide for fifty miles around."
Mrs. Jones slapped the last piece of turtle meat into the water with a
splash. She arose, gathering her long skirts about her.
"Joe's maybe fergettin' that as a gal, my paw taught me every crook and
turn of the swamp. Hain't been in there fer quite a spell now, but I got
a hankerin' to go agin."
Penny stared at her incredulously.
"You mean you'll take me?" she demanded. "Today? Now?"
"I've got a quilt I should be piecin' on this afternoon, but hit can
wait. If you hain't afeared to place yerself in my hands, I'll take you."
"I'll jump at the chance! But do you have a boat?"
"We'll make Joe lend us his!" the widow said grimly. "And if he tries
squirmin', well, I know how to handle him!"
CHAPTER
19
_PENNY'S PLAN_
Making elaborate preparations for the trip into the swamp, Mrs. Jones
packed a lunch, and donned a huge straw hat and stout boots.
However, she did not change the long, flowing skirt, which flopped about
her ankles as she and Penny walked through the meadow to Trapper Joe's
dock.
From the porch, the old guide saw the pair and watched them warily.
"We're takin' yer boat, Joe," the widow called to him from the creek's
edge. "We're makin' a little trip into the swamp."
Joe pulled himself from the chair and came quickly to the dock.
"Hold on now!" he protested. "Two wimmin can't go alone into the swamp!
Leastwise, not beyond Lookout Point."
"Says who?" retorted the widow, already untying the boat.
"That young 'un's talked you into goin' to Black Island! Ye can't do it.
You'll git lost in one o' the false channels. The hyacinths are bad this
year."
The widow hesitated, then tossed her head as she dropped the package of
lunch into the skiff.
"Ye forgit I was swamp raised! Git me the paddles and a pole, Joe. Don't
stand there gawkin'."
"No wimmin ever went as far as Black Island. It hain't safe!"
"My Paw took me there when I was a little girl. I hain't forgittin' the
way."
"Ye'r stubborn as a mule!" Joe accused, glaring at her. "If you're dead
set on goin', I see I'll have to give in and go with ye. But it's agin my
best judgment."
"No one asked ye to go with us, Joe," the widow said tartly. "We aim to
make this trip by ourselves. Jest git the paddles and pole."
Joe threw up his hands in a gesture of defeat and started slowly for the
shack. "Wimmin!" he muttered. "There jest hain't no sense in 'em!"
He took his time inside the shack, but finally returned with the
requested paddles and pole.
"There ye are!" he snapped. "But I'm warnin' ye, if ye git into trouble
or lost, don't expect me to come after ye."
"Now I'll take the kicker motor," the widow ordered, paying no heed to
his words.
"Not my motor!" Joe exclaimed defiantly. "I paid sixty dollars fer it
secondhand and I hain't lettin' no female ruin it."
"Ye can't expect me to blister my hands rowin' all day," the widow
replied. "We aim to make a quick trip."
"Ye can't use the motor in all them hyacinths!"
"Maybe not, but it'll take us through the open spots a heap faster. The
motor, Joe."
Grumbling loudly, the guide went to the house once more. He came back
with the motor which he attached and started for the widow.
"Thank ye kindly, Joe," she grinned at him as the boat pulled away from
the dock. "I'll make ye one of my apple pies when I git back."
"_If ye get back_," the guide corrected morosely.
Propelled by the motor, the skiff sped steadily through the channel and
came presently to the Hawkins' farm. The popping of the engine, which
could be heard some distance, drew Mrs. Hawkins to the dock.
She signaled the boat as it drew near.
"Howdy," the Widow Jones greeted her politely though with no warmth. She
throttled down the engine and drifted in toward shore.
"Goin' in fer a little fishin', I take it," Mrs. Hawkins observed by way
of inquiry. "But where's yer fishin' poles?"
"Left 'em ter home," the widow replied.
"Then you hain't fishin'."
"'Pears like yer right smart at usein' yer eyes," the widow agreed dryly.
A slight frown which did not escape Penny, puckered the farm woman's
forehead. She seemed on the verge of speaking, then appeared to change
her mind. As the boat drifted on, she watched stolidly.
"Never did like that woman," Mrs. Jones commented when the skiff had
rounded a bend. "She's got sharp eyes, and she don't approve 'cause we're
goin' inter the swamp together."
"Why should she care?" Penny asked.
"I wonder myself."
"I've noticed that she always seems to be watching the entrance channel
into the swamp," Penny said thoughtfully. "Perhaps she is the one who
taps out those signals!"
"Signals? What do you mean, young'un?"
Penny told of the strange pounding noises she had heard during her
previous trip through the swamp.
"I could almost wager Mrs. Hawkins will wait until we're a safe distance
away, and then signal!" the girl went on. "Don't I wish I could catch her
though!"
"Maybe ye kin. We could shut off the motor and drift back and watch."
Penny's eyes began to sparkle with excitement. "I'd love to do it. But
won't she be listening for the sound of our motor as we go deeper into
the swamp? If she doesn't hear it, she's apt to suspect something."
"Ye've got a real head on yer shoulders," said the widow approvingly. "By
the way, I don't like to keep callin' ye young'un now we're good friends.
What's yer name?"
"I thought you knew. I'm sorry. It's Penny Parker."
"Penny! I never did hear o' a girl named after money."
"I wasn't exactly," Penny smiled. "My real name is Penelope, but no one
ever liked it. So I'm called Penny."
"Penelope, hain't sich a bad name. That's what I'll call ye."
"About Mrs. Hawkins--" the girl reminded her.
"Oh, yes, now if ye was a mind to find out about her, it wouldn't be so
hard."
"How?"
"We hain't gone fur into the swamp yet. I could let ye out here on the
bank and ye could slip back afoot to the bend in the channel."
"Where I'd be able to watch the house!"
"Ye got the idea, Penelope. All the while, I would keep goin' on in the
boat until the sound o' the motor jest naturally died out. Then I could
row back here and pick ye up agin."
"Mrs. Jones, you're the one who has a head on your shoulders!" Penny
cried. "Let's do it!"
The widow brought the skiff alongside the bank, steadying it as the girl
stepped ashore.
"Ye got a watch?" she asked.
"Yes."
"Then I'll meet ye right here in 'bout three-quarters of an hour. I kin
keep track o' the time by lookin' at the sun."
"That may not give me enough time," Penny said anxiously.
"If yer late, I'll wait fer ye," the widow promised. "But try to be here.
If ye hain't we may havter give up the trip, 'cause it hain't sensible
startin' in late in the day."
"I'll be here," Penny assured her. "If nothing happens in three-quarters
of an hour, I'll just give it up."
The boat, it's motor popping steadily, slipped away. Penny scrambled up
the muddy bank, and finding a well-trod path, walked rapidly toward the
Hawkins' place.
Soon she came to the bend in the creek, and there paused. From afar, she
could hear the retreating sound of the skiff's motor.
Through a break in the bushes, the girl peered toward the distant
farmhouse. To her disappointment, the yard was now deserted, and Mrs.
Hawkins was nowhere in sight.
"Maybe I was wrong," Penny thought. "I'd hate to waste all this valuable
time."
For a half hour she waited. Twice Mrs. Hawkins came out of the house,
once to gather in clothes from the line and the second time to obtain a
pail of water.
"I guess my hunch was crazy," Penny told herself. "I'll have to be
starting back to meet Mrs. Jones."
The sound of the motorboat now had died out completely, so the girl knew
the widow already was on her way to their appointed meeting place.
Turning away from the bushes, Penny paused for one last glance at the
farmhouse. The yard remained deserted. But as she sighed in
disappointment, the kitchen door again flew open.
Mrs. Hawkins came outside and walked rapidly to the shed. She listened
attentively for a moment. Then from a peg on the outside wall, she took
down a big tin dishpan and a huge wooden mixing spoon.
Penny watched with mounting excitement. This was the moment for which she
had waited!
Carefully, the farm woman looked about to be certain no one was nearby.
Then with firm precision, she beat out a tattoo on the dishpan.
"It's a signal to someone in the swamp!" guessed Penny. "In code she is
tapping out that Mrs. Jones and I are on our way into the interior!"
CHAPTER
20
_TRAILING HOD HAWKINS_
After Mrs. Hawkins had pounded out the signal, she hung the dishpan on
its peg once more, and went to the door of the shed. Without opening it,
she spoke to someone inside the building. Penny was too far away to hear
what she said.
In a minute, the woman turned away and vanished into the house.
Penny waited a little while to be certain Mrs. Hawkins did not intend to
come outside again. Then, with an uneasy glance at her wrist watch, she
stole away to rejoin Mrs. Jones.
The skiff was drawn up to shore by the time she reached the appointed
meeting place.
"I was jest about to give you up," the widow remarked as the girl
scrambled into the boat. "Did ye learn what ye wanted to know?"
Penny told her what she had seen.
"'Pears you may be right about it bein' a signal," the widow agreed
thoughtfully. "We may be able to learn more too, 'cause whoever had his'n
ears tuned to Ma Hawkins' signal may figure we're deep in the swamp by
this time."
"Let's keep on the alert as we near Lookout Point," Penny urged.
Mrs. Jones nodded and silently dipped the paddle.
Soon they came within view of the point. Passing beneath an overhanging
tree branch, the widow grasped it with one hand, causing the skiff to
swing sideways into a shelter of leaves.
"See anyone, Penelope?" she whispered.
"Not a soul."
"Then maybe we was wrong about Ma Hawkins signalling anyone."
"But I do see a boat beached on the point!" Penny added. "And see!
Someone is coming out of the bush now!"
"Hod Hawkins!"
Keeping quiet, the pair in the skiff waited to see what would happen.
Hod came down to the water's edge, peering with a puzzled expression
along the waterway. He did not see the skiff, shielded by leaves and
dense shade.
"Hit's all-fired queer," they heard him mutter. "I shore didn't see no
boat pass here this mawnin'. But Maw musta seen one go by or she wouldn't
heve pounded the pan."
Hod sat down on a log, watching the channel. Penny and Mrs. Jones
remained where they were. Once the current, sluggish as it was, swung the
skiff against a projecting tree root. The resulting jar and scraping
sound seemed very loud to their ears. But the Hawkins youth did not hear.
Penny and the widow were becoming weary of sitting in such cramped
positions under the tree branch. To their relief, Hod arose after a few
minutes. Reaching into the hollow log, he removed a tin pan somewhat
smaller than the dishpan Mrs. Hawkins had used a few minutes earlier.
"He's going to signal!" Penny whispered excitedly. "Either to his mother,
or someone deeper in the swamp!"
Already Hod was beating out a pattern on the pan, very similar to the one
the girl had heard before.
After a few minutes, the swamper thrust the pan back into its hiding
place. He hesitated, and then to the surprise of Penny and Mrs. Jones,
stepped into his boat.
"If he comes this way, he's certain to see us!" Penny thought uneasily.
With never a glance toward the leafy hideout, Hod shoved off, rowing
deeper into the swamp.
"Dare we follow him?" whispered Penny.
"That's what I aim to do," the Widow Jones rejoined grimly. "I hain't
afeared o' the likes o' Hod Hawkins! Moreover, fer a long time, I been
calculatin' to find out what takes him and Coon so offen into the swamp."
"You mean recently don't you, Mrs. Jones. Just since Danny Deevers
escaped from prison?"
"I don't know nothin' about Danny Deevers," the widow replied as she
picked up the paddle again. "I do know that the Hawkins' been up to
mischief fer more'n a year."
"Then you must have an idea what that city truck was doing on the swamp
road the other night."
"An idear--yes," agreed Mrs. Jones. "But I hain't sure, and until I am, I
hain't makin' no accusations."
Now that Hod's boat was well away, the widow noiselessly sent the skiff
forward.
"We kin follow close enough to jest about keep him in sight if we don't
make no noise," she warned. "But we gotta be keerful."
Penny nodded and became silent.
Soon the channel was no more than a path through high water-grass and
floating hyacinths. Hod propelled his boat with powerful muscles,
alternating with forked pole and paddle. At times, when Penny took over
to give the Widow Jones a "breather," she was hard pressed not to lose
the trail.
"We're headin' straight fer Black Island, hit 'pears to me," Mrs. Jones
whispered once. "The channel don't look the same though as when I was
through here last. But I reckon if we git lost we kin find our way out
somehow."
Soon the skiff was inching through a labyrinth of floating hyacinths;
there were few stretches of open water. Shallow channels to confuse the
unwary, radiated out in a dozen directions, many of them with no outlets.
Always, however, before the hyacinths closed in, the Widow Jones was able
to pick up the path through which Hod had passed.
"From the way he's racin' along, he's been this way plenty o' times," she
remarked. "We're headin' fer Black Island right enough."
The sun now was high overhead, beating down on Penny's back and shoulders
with uncomfortable warmth. Mrs. Jones brought out the lunch and a jug of
water. One ate while the other rowed.
"We're most to Black Island," the widow informed presently. "If ye look
sharp through the grass, ye can see thet point o' high land. Thet's the
beginnin' o' the island--biggest one in the swamp."
"But where is Hod?"
"He musta pulled up somewheres in the bushes. We'll have to be keerful
and go slow now or we'll be caught."
"Listen!" whispered Penny.
Although she could as yet see no one on the island, voices floated out
across the water.
"We heerd yer signal, Hod," a man said, "but we hain't seen no one."
"A boat musta come through, or Maw wouldn't heve beat the pan."
"Whoever 'twas, they probably went off somewheres else," the other man
replied. "Glad yer here anyhow, Hod. We got a lot o' work to do and ye
can help us."
Hod's reply was inaudible, for obviously the men were moving away into
the interior of the island.
"Thet was old Ezekiel talkin' to his son," the Widow Jones declared,
although Penny already had guessed as much. "They've gone off somewheres,
so if we're a mind to land, now's our only chance."
Penny gazed at her companion in surprise and admiration.
"You're not afraid?" she inquired softly.
"Maybe I am," the Widow Jones admitted. "But that hain't no excuse fer me
turnin' tail! This here's a free country ain't it?"
She poled the skiff around the point to a thick clump of bushes. There
she pulled up, and with Penny's help made the skiff secure to a tree root
hidden from sight by overhanging branches.
Scrambling up the muddy bank, the pair paused to take bearings. Voices
now had died away and to all appearances the island might have been
deserted.
Treading with utmost caution, Penny and the Widow Jones tramped along the
shore until they came to a path. Abruptly, the girl halted, sniffing the
air.
"I smell wood burning," she whispered. "From a campfire probably."
"An' I smell somethin' more," added the Widow Jones grimly. "Cain't ye
notice thet sickish, sweet odor in the air?"
"Yes, what is it?"
"We'll find out," replied Mrs. Jones. "But if we git cotched, I'm warnin'
ye we won't never git away from here. Ye sure ye want to go on?"
"Very sure."
"Then come on. And be keerful not to crackle any leaves underfoot."
The path led to a low, tunnellike opening in the thicket. Penny, who
again had taken the lead, crouched low, intending to crawl through.
Before she could do so, she heard a stifled cry behind her. Turning, she
saw that Mrs. Jones had sagged to one knee, and her face was twisted with
pain.