VI

As the boys stood steaming by the fire, Ted using his wet handkerchief

to clean the mud and slime from his trousers, more questions were asked,

and in response to inquiry as to the present whereabouts of the hiding

slackers, the negro said:

"Dey ain't come in yet. Some of 'em runnin' a deer and some gone to dey

traps." July pointed to the skins hanging from grape-vines and

bear-grass ropes under the elevated house of logs and beneath a low

shelter of thatched palmetto fans. "Dey in de trappin' business," he

added.

At this moment some one was heard coming through the brush, singing in a

peculiar childish voice: "Open the gates as high as the sky and let King

George's army pass by."

"Dat's Billy," said July. "He ain't got good sense."

A barefoot young white man, roughly clothed, entered the clearing at a

trot and ran up to the two boys. Fixing his eye on Ted, he inquired

with a giggle, "What's your name?" When Ted had told him, he turned to

Hubert with the same question. His hair was light in color and soft as a

child's, but his face was wrinkled and wore a meaningless smile. His

pale eyes were vacant yet restless.

"He's Sweet Jackson's nigger same as I'm Mr. Buck Hardy's," explained

July, showing his white, even teeth. "I found him in yuh waitin' on

Sweet when I come. But Mr. Hardy don't cuff me round de way Sweet do

Billy. _He_ don't think nothin' o' takin' a stick to dat half-witted boy

when he git mad. It's scan'lous."

It appeared from July's remarks to Ted, while Billy still questioned

Hubert, that "Sweet"--a curious illustration of the adhesiveness of

Cracker nursery nicknames--was second only to Buck in importance and

influence among the slackers. Yet Sweet was not liked, being often

sullen and ill-tempered, while Buck, the "cock of the walk," a great

stalwart fellow with a waste of muscle and a kindly disposition, was

generally popular.

The tramp of approaching feet was now heard and July turned hurriedly to

the fire, where he had been frying cornbread. A heavy young man

advanced out of the darkened woods, a rifle over his arm, followed by

two other young men carrying a deer suspended from a stick which ran

across their shoulders. Three dogs trotted into the fire-lit circle

ahead of the hunting party. The two burdened men threw the deer down on

a carpet of palmetto fans and at once began to skin it, merely glancing

once or twice at the strange boys. The leading hunter, who, according to

July's whisper, was Sweet Jackson, betrayed curiosity.

"Who-all's this?" he inquired gruffly, approaching the fire. "Billy, git

me some water quick. Whur did you boys come from?"

Ted briefly explained, but Sweet Jackson did not appear to be quite

satisfied, a gleam of suspicion showing in his eyes as they remained

fixed upon Ted's uniform.

"What's them clothes you got on?" he asked, and when the boy had

explained he was mysteriously informed in a voice suggestive of menace:

"If they sent you in the Oke-fi-noke to find our camp and go back and

tell 'em, they played thunder."

Another party of hunters now came out of the dark woods, exhibiting an

otter skin as their single but valuable prize. Among these was Buck

Hardy, who stood in the background only long enough to hear the outline

of the boys' story and then approached them, his manner quite friendly.

"How you come on, boys?" he asked, extending his hand to Ted. "This

one"--as he turned, smiling, to Hubert--"is as rosy as a little gal."

Hubert was highly indignant at this, but both he and Ted felt

intuitively that the "cock of the walk" would prove their best friend in

the camp. As he questioned them and appeared to be satisfied with their

straightforward answers, they observed him narrowly. He was fully six

feet tall and evidently an uncommonly muscular and powerful man. But

what attracted the boys was his atmosphere of quiet resolution and the

kindly expression of his eyes. They wondered that such a man, who looked

brave if he was not, should be a hiding slacker.

Meanwhile July had been busy frying thin strips of fresh venison steak,

and now announced that supper was ready. The slackers thereupon took

their places round the fire, and the boys had abundant opportunity to

study the faces of all--an inspection that, except in one or two

instances, found little that was reassuring. Ted and Hubert were

politely invited by Buck to join in the feast, but, having already eaten

their fill, accepted only a cup of coffee.

The hapless Billy, who had taken the liberty of appeasing his hunger

before supper was ready, now lay on the grass, reciting in a sort of

sing-song: "Mena, mino, mo; ketch a nigger by the toe, if he hollers let

him go." This was followed by: "Quemo, quimo, dilmo, day; rick, stick,

pomididdle, dido--Sally broke the paddle over Mingo's head." The

childish mind of the young man seemed to delight in nursery rhymes. He

was beginning, "One-two, buckle my shoe--three-four, open the door,"

etc., when Sweet Jackson called his name roughly and sent him on an

errand.

"What's the news about the war?" asked Buck Hardy of Ted, as the

slackers lighted their pipes and settled into comfortable lounging

positions about the fire.

Ted responded eagerly, describing the situation as he understood it and

showing that the outlook was not as promising as it had been. He

indicated that Russia had dropped out and was "no good any more," that

Italy was hard pressed, that France was wearing out, and that England's

safety was threatened by Germany's submarines.

"It depends on the United States," the boy declared. "We've got to end

this war. We've got to be in a big hurry to put two million soldiers in

the field, and every able-bodied young man is needed." Then, his zeal

overcoming his prudence, he excitedly added: "I don't see how you men

can stay here in this swamp at such a time. I--I--I'd be _ashamed_!"

Buck Hardy winced. Sweet Jackson sat erect with a threatening look. The

other slackers shifted their positions uneasily and frowned, some of

them uttering low ejaculations of astonishment. July paused in his noisy

scraping of a pot and stood at attention. Hubert nudged Ted warningly

and urged him in a whisper to hold his tongue.

"Who's ashamed!" cried Sweet Jackson derisively. "I ain't, for one.

'Tain't none of my quiltin'. What them Germans ever done to _me_? I

never heard tell of 'em till lately."

"You'll hear of 'em a plenty if they ever get this country," said Ted,

shaking off Hubert's hand. The boy was too excited and eager to speak

his mind to count the costs. "They'll rob you of every dollar, and if

you don't walk the line they chalk you'll be shot in your tracks. They

haven't had a chance yet to do anything to _you_. The thing to think

about is what they've done to other countries and what they intend to do

to ours if they can. Do you want them to give Texas and a half dozen

more States out that way to Mexico, as the Kaiser promised to do, if

Mexico would help him conquer this country?"

"Texas is a fur ways, and big enough to take care of itself, too," said

Sweet, serenely indifferent.

"That's a fine way to look at it!" Ted was quick to retort, scorn in his

tone. "Will your right hand feel that way if somebody walks up and

whacks off your left?"

"They could never do it," spoke up Buck Hardy quietly. "The Germans nor

nobody else could ever take this country."

"That depends on what sort of a fight we put up and how quick we are

about it," insisted Ted. "I read the papers a lot, and listen to men

talk, too, and sometimes it looks as if even England may have to give

in. If the Germans get England and the British fleet, what will happen

then? Why, they'll get Canada, of course, and get ready to invade us

anywhere across a three-thousand mile border line. _Then_ we'll have

it!"

"Canada and New York and Ohio and Chicago is a fur ways," remarked

Sweet, yawning. "If the Germans do get 'em, what's that to us 'way down

h-yuh?"

"What's that to _us_ if the richest part of our country falls into the

hands of the enemy!" cried Ted, losing his patience and with it all

sense of prudence. "You make me sick. As I was about to say just now, it

all depends on how many of us go out and fight and how many of us go and

hide in a swamp."

Again Buck Hardy winced, and all the lounging slackers sat up, startled,

staring at Ted as if scarcely able to believe that they had heard

aright. As a general murmuring began, Sweet Jackson leaped to his feet.

"Billy, go get me a big switch," he ordered. "I've got to give that

sassy boy a good frailin'. He's too big for his breeches. I aim to teach

him a lesson right now."

"No, you won't," said Buck Hardy, who had also risen to his feet. "I

like that boy. I like his spunk. And anybody who lays a hand on him has

got me to whip. I put you all on notice," he concluded, turning from the

furious but perceptibly checked Jackson and sweeping an eye over the

seated slackers.

"Well, Buck Hardy," argued Sweet in a vain attempt to disguise his

surrender, "if you're goin' to play the fool in this thing you'll be

sorry."

"Aw, set down and let the boy talk," said Buck, resuming his own seat on

the grass. "You don't have to agree with him. Let him talk; it's

interestin'. Go on, kid."

But Ted seemed to think that he had said enough for the present, and for

once he was not ready to speak. Buck Hardy himself broke the silence

that followed.

"There's another thing I want to say," he announced. "I ain't in this

swamp because I'm a-scared to fight. If they'd a let me alone, it would

a' been all right, but when they up and passed a force-law, draftin'

everybody whether or no, I got mad."

Then Ted found his voice, opening his mouth to speak impetuously, but

Hubert grabbed him by the arm to check him and this time the younger boy

would not be denied.

"Hush!--don't!" Hubert whispered urgently. "Don't tell him he was free

to enlist and try to put him in a hole. He's our _friend_."

Ted saw the force of this in time and shut off his coming flood words,

saying only:

"I didn't think you were afraid, Mr. Hardy. And it is very good of you

to be willing for me to speak out, and I thank you very much."

Then the "cock of the walk" himself seemed to think that it would be

better to change the subject, for he began to speak about an interesting

incident of the day's hunting. But the conversation soon dragged, the

slackers yawning drowsily. One by one they rose and disappeared, until

only Buck, Sweet and the two boys were left by the fire. Finally Sweet

rose, saying:

"What you aim to do with them boys to-night, Buck? We got to keep our

eye on them boys."

"They'll sleep with me," was the answer.

Shortly afterward Buck Hardy lighted a torch and bade the boys follow

him. He led them beneath the curious log house standing so high in the

air--a precaution against snakes in summer--and climbed by a ladder

through a square opening in the floor. Passing the sleeping men, whose

faces even in the case of the least pleasing seemed softened in slumber,

Hardy led the way to the extreme end of the room. Giving the torch to

Ted, he scattered and broadened his really comfortable bed of leaves and

Spanish moss so as to make room for the two boys between himself and the

wall. There appeared to be no window in all the structure, but

apparently sufficient air entered between the logs of the walls and

through the wide door in the floor.

After the light was put out Ted recalled Sweet Jackson's "We got to keep

our eye on them boys," with its suggestion of possible captivity at

least for a time; but both he and Hubert were too tired to speculate or

worry about their situation, and they soon forgot everything in sound

sleep.