WHAT HAPPENED IN THE SWAMP.
The night was lighter than it had been when John arrived at Mrs.
Boyle's. The curtain which shrouded the sky was torn in a few places,
and through the rents here and there was gleaming a star.
John ran across the cleared space back of the house, meeting but one
obstacle, a stump, which threw him and slightly bruised his leg. The
interval between the house and the woods, or more properly the brush,
was short; and it was not long before he was in the woods to which
Mrs. Boyle had alluded. It had formerly been a wagon track, but of
late it had been so seldom used by teams that one side of it was
grown over with weeds, although the other was beaten down by foot
passengers. Its width aided him in keeping it, and, moreover, the
near bushes by their sharp briars notified him whenever he encroached
on their territory.
He began to feel that his alarm in the house was unnecessary and that
he had acted rudely toward Durgenson, who certainly had given him no
cause for such treatment. His refusal of guidance through the woods
seemed to him every moment more rude and uncalled for. And yet he
could account for Mrs. Boyle's warning only by one of two
suppositions, that she had some reason for her extraordinary caution
or that she was insane. After she had handed him the envelope, she
had disarmed the suspicion of the cattle-buyer by calmness and
feigned indifference, such as might be used by a sly lunatic who was
planning to deceive his keeper. He resolved that at the next
opportunity he would amply apologize to Durgenson, though he could
not imagine a way in which he might explain his uncivil departure.
The road ended at the edge a field, beyond which was some large
timber, which was faintly visible. The intervening ground had been
recently plowed by some unenterprising farmer who was late in the
preparation of his summer fallow. Much of it lay up in large masses,
which fell in pieces when it was trodden upon, for the dry weather
had not baked it as it had the more easily influenced clay. John
debated whether he would follow the edge of the improvement or enter
the woods, but he soon adopted the latter course.
A short, distance from the field was a steep descent leading to the
swamp, which here, at the end of a considerable stretch to the east,
turned abruptly southward. He was at the bottom of the hill,
preparing to return to the higher ground, when he heard in the bushes
at his right a crashing, which, had he been in an eastern tropical
jungle, he might have imagined to be made by a hippopotamus or an
elephant. The crashing, together with its supplement, the sound of
heavy and frequent blows from a cudgel, receded farther to the
interior of the swamp. The day and the night of unusual circumstances
had fortified John against surprises, yet they had not so far
stripped him of curiosity as to keep him from wishing to unravel the
mystery. Leaving his violin by a tree which he thought he could
readily find, he followed the retreating noise, which, though varying
in volume, was continuous and was an excellent safeguard against his
being discovered by those who made it. It occurred to him that in
thus dogging the footsteps of others, when he could assign no good
reason for so doing, he was playing an unworthy part; but, as many a
comparatively upright man had done before him, he subordinated his
strictest sense of honor to the fulfillment of his desire. He soon
came near enough to the disturbance to ascertain that two men were
conducting a horse through the swamp, one leading him by a halter,
the other occasionally belaboring him with a tamarack pole.
"Touch him up," said Wallace, who held the halter-strap and a
lantern. "We won't get out of here till morning unless we're
careful."
"I'll warm his ole sides," responded Ab. "Git along here with you."
"You want to look out, Ab," warned the father, "You don't know who's
prowling around."
"Oh, you're always a worryin', dad," returned Ab, "I'm a-talkin' low.
There ain't anybody goin' to poke around here at one o'clock for
fun."
"Yes, the first thing we know we'll get gobbled," complained Wallace.
"There'll be a pile of profit in that, I've a good notion to say I'll
quit this kind of work. You can't make much of a living at it. There,
I've got my foot in one of them devilish holes again! I'm wet clear
up to my hips. I don't expect anything but what I'll be sick
to-morrow with the rheumatism."
"Oh, this'll only just limber you up, dad," consoled Ab. "You ain't
dead yet. You can grunt."
"I wish you wouldn't be so cunning," returned Wallace, with a whine.
"It don't feel funny to be all crippled up. You know how I was last
winter and you hadn't ought to laugh."
"Why don't you laugh, too? That's what 'ud do you good. Come, chirk
up, dad. Less hear how 'twould sound for you to talk without that
whine."
"If you felt like I do, you wouldn't be so chipper," said Wallace.
They had now reached a lower and thinner growth of bushes, where John
could not follow them so closely as he had done without incurring a
strong risk of detection. For a time, therefore, their conversation
was unintelligible to him. As they entered the tamaracks, he
quickened his pace and was presently at no great distance from them.
This was several miles below the retreat which had been fitted by
Montcalm, and the use of which had been abandoned on account of the
possibility that it had been discovered during the great hunt and
that it would be secretly watched.
"I wish we had a market for these horses, dad," said Ab, "We'd make
something then."
"I'm a-going to have a bigger share of 'em than I git now," said
Wallace, "or I won't work."
"That's what you've said before," replied Ab, "but you keep right
on."
"Well, there's no use of it," said Wallace. "I can do such business
just as well as Montcalm can. He won't fool me much longer. I'll make
him an offer; and then, if he don't come to my terms, we'll go it on
our own hook."
"Now you're showin' some spunk," returned Ab. "We can sell horses as
well as he can. He's one of the middlemen you tell about. Takes all
of the profits and don't labor himself."
"There wouldn't be any trouble about selling 'em," declared Wallace.
"When you get the start of me on a horse dicker, you've got to be up
in the morning, I ain't a bit afraid but what I could show Trace
Montcalm a trick or two."
"Who do you suppose the boss is that he's tellin' so much about?"
asked Ab.
"I don't believe there is any," said Wallace. "That's one of his
lies. He thought if he said that, he could grind our faces under a
kind of a monopoly. I'll let him know what I think about it, too. I
ain't dependent on him."
"Less have the whole benefit of this one ourselves," proposed Ab.
"We're sharp enough for that. We can sell him and not be caught. We
can do anything Montcalm can."
"We'll see," said Wallace. "Hold the horse while I pull up these few
trees in front. I wish Whipple knew how to break a colt. This one
won't half lead."
Ab had started for the purpose of taking the halter-strap, when the
animal, jerking away from the elder Wallace, plunged among the trees,
which at this place were not unusually thick, and circling about a
large fallen tamarack, went toward the hard land in a course parallel
with the road. Ab raced hurriedly back along the cleared strip,
turning his head to one side, although his attempts to see the beast
which he wished to intercept were necessarily unavailing. So intent
was he on securing his lost plunder and so little light came through
the tops of the trees, that without warning he came full against
John, who was in the act of rising from his crouching position.
Quickly gathering himself, he rushed among the tamaracks exclaiming,
"Run, dad, run!"
The lantern which Wallace carried was immediately extinguished. The
sounds of three bodies, one at the left and two at the right, were
heard moving through the swamp. John endeavored to follow one of the
objects at the right. He had no hope or intention of capturing the
Wallaces, who at such a place and at such an hour would prove
inconvenient prisoners to one man unsupported. It was, he thought,
advisable for him to secure the colt, restore him to his owner, and
testify to what he had seen and heard. Groping carefully and keeping
his hands before his face were necessary precautions for protection
against the limbs, some of which were dry, pointed, and hard. The
horse was moving from him, but its retreat was slower than his
advance. It was proceeding toward an opening in the tamaracks,
through which could be seen patches of nearly cloudless sky.
This opening was on each side of the creek which ran lengthwise of
the swamp. On the bank of the stream the colt stood, undecided as to
which direction he should pursue. When John went toward him, he did
not run away, but turning, remained with his heels suggestively
presented. The man again made a circuit, and again the horse
anticipated his design and gave a quiet but significant challenge,
John persevered long in his endeavors, but at last, seeing their
uselessness, he decided to retrace his way, giving no further notice
to the colt. Accordingly, he set out to regain the road which he had
quitted; but he had no sooner undertaken this task than he was
followed by the colt, which seemed bent on keeping neither afar off
nor in close proximity. Near a tall stub which loomed above the
smaller trees, he stopped to ascertain his location and the course
which it was best for him to follow. He was in a stunted, rather thin
growth of the tamaracks. About him were trunks, the diameters of
which were out of proportion to their heights, and limbs which
reached far outward as if vainly trying to extend themselves over the
entire surface of the ground. Farther on were the tops of the smaller
trees which were too dense for penetration by the vision of one who
was not in their midst. After he had calculated upon his probable
distance from the place which he wished to reach, he selected a
conspicuous broken tree-top as a landmark and advanced toward it.
From this he was obliged to proceed unaided by a visible goal, for
the trees were so nearly of a height and so close together that a
distance of a few feet sufficed to make them indistinguishable. He
thought the way to the road very long and very tedious. Now and then
he halted to make observations, but as they were invariably limited
to thirty square rods of swamp and an indefinite expanse of sky, they
were productive of no good. It was with a feeling of relief that he
saw the perceptible stretch of the now well-lighted heavens move
downward and expand as the tamaracks diminished in stature. But his
joy was dissipated when he found that he had traversed a circle and
returned to the broken tree which he had left a few minutes before.
Once more he set out, and once more, making the circuit, came back to
the familiar stub. He now concluded that by another direction he
would try to reach the upland. His next attempt was to return to the
creek, and this he accomplished. It was now morning. He wandered up
and down the creek, but he was unable to find a ford. In desperation
he retreated a few paces from the stream and running up to the edge,
jumped with all his might.
The creek was so wide that a trained athlete might not easily have
cleared it at a leap; and he landed, therefore, in the muddy bottom,
where he sank above his waist. Luckily for him, he struck within
reach of some bushes, which afforded so good a hold that by hard
pulling he was able to extricate himself. Striking out from this
point, he met with the same success which had attended his efforts on
the opposite side.
But by following the creek, he reasoned, in the course of a mile or
two he would arrive at a public highway. With this end in view he
proceeded down the left bank. A walk of thirty rods brought him to a
bridge which was curiously constructed of poles. Across it teams and
wagons had been driven, and from the right bank branched two roads.
Passing over the creek, he took the left track, which turned and led
him back to the bridge. He recrossed it, satisfied that he was in a
fair way to reach the improvements. The colt, which had awaited him
on the right bank, and had followed him along the circuitous road
approached the edge, snorted, stepped on the poles carefully at
first, and then finished the risky passage with a sudden rush. The
road wound among the trees, its undulations indicating the way which
had been most easy to clear, it brought John to some scattered bushes
bordering a sandy slope where blossomed buckwheat was growing. He
gained the eminence and beheld the welcome signs of
civilization--houses, farms, orchards and cultivated fields. The sun
was well up, and the hour for beginning farm labor had arrived.
Between him and the nearest house young cattle and milk cows were
grazing. Near the road and far to the right a boy was riding a wheel
cultivator. The creak of a plow wheel came from the opposite side of
an untrimmed hedge at the left. The hedge gave place to a board fence
about midway in the line of division which separated the two fields.
As John climbed the fence, the plow approached, drawn by two bay
horses, one of which was wind-broken. The plowman had a sunburned,
rather disagreeable countenance. He wore an old felt hat which was
tucked under at the sides, so that it stuck out in peaks before and
behind.
"Good-morning," said John.
"Good-morning, sir," responded the plowman.
"Can you tell me where I am?" asked John.
"I guess I can," answered the plowman. "Looks to me as if you was in
my field."
"I got lost in the swamp," said John, "and I have no idea where I am.
Am I still in Jefferson Township?"
"No," replied the man, "you ain't in that county. You're in
Washtenaw, now, township of Warren."
"I wish to go to Break o'Day," said John. "Will you please direct me
so that I can find the way?"
"Go to the road and make north. By and by you'll come to the forks.
One comes here and one goes to Sharptown. You want to take the handle
and that leads to Break o'Day. Helloa, is that your horse?"
The exclamation was caused by the colt, which had trotted to the
fence and was whinnying to the team.
"No," answered John, "he followed me from the swamp."
"Followed you from the swamp!" echoed the plowman. "That's funny that
he should be in there."
"Yes," said John, thinking it best to impart his newly gained
information first to the authorities and afterward to the owner of
the horse, "I found him there, and he seemed as anxious to get out as
I."
"Did you catch him?"
"No, I did not."
"I'm going to try it now," said the man, climbing the fence. "Oh, you
bloody brute!" he ejaculated, quickly retreating, as the colt whirled
and stood with his heels toward him.
"Can I get something to eat at your house?" inquired John.
"Well, now, I don't know. It's just as the woman says about that. You
can go up and ask her."
In twenty minutes John was leaving the house with his hunger
appeased. It was with self-congratulations on his escape from the
swamp, that, avoiding the graveled walk which lay between circular
beds of flowers, he passed through the large gate and took long,
steady strides toward Break o'Day.