IX

After breakfast had been eaten and the eight slackers had scattered,

going about the day's business, Ted sat disconsolately by the camp fire,

watching July as he "cleared up" and talking intermittently with Hubert

about the incidents of the night.

"I'm afraid I can't do anything with those slackers," said Ted, his tone

as well as his words indicating great discouragement. "I thought I might

be able to wake them up, but----"

"Well, you put up a good talk anyhow," said Hubert, frankly outspoken,

as usual, in his admiration of Ted's oratorical powers, adding, however,

with his habitual pessimism: "But I knew it wouldn't do any good. What

do _they_ care? All they want to do is to look out for number one."

At this moment Billy trotted out of the woods and called Hubert aside.

The half-witted young man leaned toward Hubert and said to him in a low

voice, with the air of one conferring a priceless favor:

"Would you like to come now and see son?"

"Who is 'son'?" asked Hubert skeptically yet curiously. "Yes, I'd like

to see him."'

"Come on, then."

Ted had fallen into troubled revery and July was engaged in vigorously

scraping one of his pots, so neither took note of Hubert's departure in

the company of the half-wit.

Billy, who had fished out of his pocket a small wriggling water frog and

carried it in his hand, led the way through the woods about a quarter of

a mile, halting at last near the clay-covered roots of a large pine that

had fallen during a wind storm. At the base of this was a small round

hole in the ground, beside which Billy fell on his knees and began

repeating in a strange, monotonous, coaxing voice:

"Doodle, doodle, come out your hole! Doodle, doodle, come out your

hole!"

As he heard the mystic words supposed to be potent to call forth from

ambush the ant-lion, which crafty insect prepares over its nest a kind

of pitfall for ants, Hubert stepped back, protesting:

"You know that's too big for a doodle-hole; that's a snake's hole."

Billy made no reply, continuing his recitation.

"I hear him a-comin'," he said softly, at last. Then, in a gentle,

caressing voice, he called down the hole: "Come on, son; come on, son."

In a few moments a large rattlesnake glided out of the hole and seized

the frog from Billy's fingers. Hubert backed rapidly away and sprang

upon a log, but Billy did not move from his place and betrayed no fear

whatever.

"Come away from there!" cried Hubert in amazement. "You Billy--that

snake will bite you!"

"Son won't bite me," replied Billy, confidently. "Son knows me. Don't be

a-scared, boy; son won't hurt you if I tell him not to."

So this was "son"--the great mystery which poor Billy had seemed so to

delight in!

"If you don't come away, I won't stay here," cried Hubert urgently.

He was alarmed for Billy's safety, fearing that as soon as the frog had

been swallowed the reckless half-wit would be bitten. He thought he

ought to look for a big stick and try to kill the snake, but made no

move to do so, fearing the consequences of resistance from Billy.

After protesting and begging for some time in vain, Hubert jumped down

from the log and hurried back to camp. By the time he had told the story

to Ted and July, the witless snake-charmer himself appeared unhurt.

"Lem me tell you one thing, Hubut," cautioned July: "you let dat Billy

hoe his own row. Play wid him roun' dis camp, but don't go foolin' long

wid him in dese woods. He ain't got good sense, and he'll git you in

trouble sho's you born."

"He ought to be in a sanitarium," said Ted.

"Look yuh, Billy," cried July, as the half-wit approached, "ain't you

got no better sense'n to prodjick wid a rattlesnake dat-a way?"

"What made you tell?" asked Billy reproachfully of Hubert.

"Dat snake goin' to bite you an' kill you," July warned urgently.

"Don't you fret," said Billy, giggling. "Son knows me."

Ted was reminded of the old saying that Providence takes care of fools

and drunken men, but he also spoke in rebuke and warning, whereupon the

disgusted Billy took himself off.

"Cap'n Ted, you want to go fishin' wid me dis mawnin'?" asked July, and

the boy promptly accepted the invitation.

The negro explained that Buck Hardy was willing for Ted to go if Hubert

would stay around the camp and play with Billy. Apparently it was not as

yet thought advisable to permit the two boys to go off on an excursion

together, but no danger of attempted flight on the part of either was

feared while they were separated.

"I don't want to 'play with Billy,'" protested Hubert indignantly. "But

you go ahead, Ted, if you want to. I'll stay around camp. I want to look

over that old paper and then take a nap. I'm sleepy--after last night."

So July got ready his fishing tackle and bait, and Ted followed him down

to the landing. They took the smallest boat and, paddling and poling,

slowly made their way against the usual obstructions toward a small lake

in the flooded jungle to the right of the great marsh or "prairie."

After nearly an hour of hard work they reached their destination and

threw out their lines, baited with wriggling worms, which, according to

July, the black bass or "trout" often took "as fas' as you kin throw

in." This morning, however, they appeared to be less hungry, and the

fishermen waited some time for even a "bite," talking in low voices the

while. During the hour that followed Ted caught one three-pounder and

July landed two others not quite as large. July considered this very

poor luck and complained that the catch was not "half a mess." It was

time to return to camp, however, and they reluctantly drew in their

lines.

As they were following the boat-trail back to the island, Ted, who had

brought his gun, stood up now and then and looked searchingly around,

hoping to see something to shoot. In this way he caught sight of a flock

of ducks swimming about in a little open pool to their left. He was

quick to fire both barrels, the shock almost causing him to lose his

equilibrium and tumble overboard. And when, with a great splashing and

fluttering the flock rose, three ducks were left floating on the water.

The boy shouted in his delight.

"We'll have enough duck, if not enough fish," he said.

"If we kin git 'em," said July doubtfully.

A hard struggle resulted in bringing the bateau only within about twenty

feet of the spot, and there it stalled, the crowding obstructions being

apparently insurmountable. July reluctantly gave up, declaring that they

would have to let the ducks "go." But tenacity of purpose was one of

Ted's chief characteristics and he would not give up. His hunter's pride

demanded the game and, besides, he insisted that it would never do to

permit so much good food to be wasted.

It was a warm spring day, and, putting his hand into the water, Ted

found it to be only agreeably cool. His decision was instantly made: he

would have those ducks if he had to swim for them. Deaf to July's urgent

warnings of the danger of alligators, moccasins, and what not, he

stripped to his shoes, and stepped out of the boat, surprised to find

the water deeper than he had expected.

In addition to standing trees and shrubs of many sorts and sizes, the

flooded swamp at this point was crowded with sunken logs, dead branches

and here and there a dense growth of flags. But Ted, wading, slipping,

falling, swimming, and battling manfully with the various difficulties,

finally reached the goal and held in his grasp a foot of each of the

three floating ducks. It was only when he turned to come back with his

prizes that he became seriously embarrassed. He then stumbled, fell,

and, as if his feet were caught or entangled in the sunken obstructions,

failed to regain his upright position. His head even disappeared under

the water, and it looked to July as if he had been drawn under by some

unseen force.

Fortunately the bateau, now lightened of a part of its load, drew less

water, and could be forced forward with less difficulty. Exerting all

his powers, the terrified negro made rapid headway and came to the

rescue in time. While the struggling Ted still managed to hold his

breath, he was seized, drawn out of the water, and lifted over the side

of the boat, laughing as he kicked from him a mass of swamp weeds and

mossy rotting branches in which his feet had been entangled. His body

showed several red scratches, and he knew he had had a narrow escape,

but he had succeeded and was happy.

"I got 'em!" he shouted triumphantly. Then, sobering, he gratefully

thanked the negro for his timely intervention and listened in a becoming

manner to the scolding his recklessness invited.

"Git on your clothes quick," urged July. "I was most scared to death,

you see me so. I wouldn't 'a' had you drownd-ed for a thousand dollars.

Mr. Hardy sho would tan my hide if I was to take you back to camp

drownd-ed. He think a heap o' you, Cap'n Ted. Dem yuther white mens all

time complainin' 'bout you, but he shut 'em up an' tell 'em he sho aim

to stan' by you."

"I think he's just fine--if he is in with a bad crowd."

"He sho is de bes' man o' de whole bunch."

"Maybe he didn't understand that he could have volunteered freely and

enlisted in some branch of the service before he was drafted," suggested

Ted. "That's the only way I can explain it."

"Maybe so," assented July, adding with a shrewd shake of the head: "But

you better not push him too hard, Cap'n Ted."

After the noon meal at the camp Buck Hardy kept his promise and took the

two boys on a deer hunt. This was a more easy and comfortable expedition

that Ted had expected. It was merely a matter of waiting and watching at

a "stand" until there was a chance to shoot at a deer running by. The

"still hunt" method, with its wearying efforts to sneak watchfully

through the woods without making the slightest noise, was not attempted.

Buck prepared only for a "deer drive." He first dispatched July with the

dogs to the south end of the island, which was about four miles long,

instructing him to go quietly with the dogs in leash. At the south end

he was to untie them and start them running northward. Meanwhile, after

giving the boys shells containing buck-shot, the "cock of the walk"

leisurely selected a promising "stand" for each and took one for himself

along the backbone of the island at the upper end.

The boys were instructed not to fire too quickly and be careful to take

good aim. They at first waited and watched in great excitement,

expecting every minute to have their first chance to bag noble game;

then they calmed down and began to wonder if anything was really going

to happen; and at last they looked wearily down the aisles of the open

pine woods, their enthusiasm fast waning.

In due time the distant baying of the dogs was heard, the sound drew

nearer, and after a long while their loud yelping plainly showed that,

though unseen by the boys, they were running past the immediate

neighborhood. Later July himself was heard coming, his voice lifted in

tireless repetition of a brief, chant-like sing-song of barbaric African

origin, which rang pleasingly through the woods. But no frightened

leaping deer was seen, and not a shot broke upon the air of the balmy

afternoon. Then, finally, came Buck himself, to tell the boys, in great

disappointment, that no game had been beaten out of the brush, and that

it was all over for the time.

"I reckon they are off feedin' in the swamp shallows to-day," he said.

By the time the slackers had lit their pipes around the camp fire that

night Ted had recovered from his disappointment and he casually remarked

that, after all, he was glad they didn't get a deer.

"Did you hear what that boy said?" asked Al Peters, laughingly drawing

general attention to Ted.

"Of course, I would have enjoyed it," the boy explained, "but we don't

need it for food, July says--I asked him--and it's a great pity to waste

even an ounce of meat at such a time. The President and Mr. Hoover have

asked everybody not to waste a scrap of food and not to eat any more

than is actually necessary."

"Well, I'll be dog-on!" exclaimed Bud Jones, and the slackers in general

looked their astonishment.

They had grown up to lavish feeding and wasteful methods in the handling

of food. They had never heard of anything else, except perhaps in the

case of some "triflin'" white man too lazy to work or some poor negro in

rags, and they wondered that such "meanness" could be recommended by the

President of the United States. Some of them were even inclined to doubt

Ted's word. There was a suggestion of scorn in Al Peters' tone as he

asked:

"What for?--for goodness' sake!"

"Why, to stave off famine, or near-famine," explained Ted. "We've got to

help feed our allies in Europe as well as ourselves. They are too busy

fighting to be able to raise their usual crops and their supplies from

other countries are cut very short. I read not long ago that the German

submarines had sent three million pounds of bacon and four million

pounds of cheese to the bottom of the sea in a single week."

At this the uneducated young backwoodsmen who had been in hiding since

the late spring of 1917 opened their eyes, several of them repeating the

figures in astonishment.

"I heard tell of them submarines," one of them remarked. "They sneaks up

on ships and shoots 'em from under the water."

"But why don't our people and our friends over the big water get after

them sneakin' things and knock 'em out and stop it?" asked Bud Jones.

"We are doing all we can, and we are really doing a lot," said Ted. "Mr.

Edison is working night and day on inventions and our destroyers are

hunting submarines all the time, and they and the English destroyers bag

a lot of them, too. They drop tremendous explosives where they see

bubbles and it tears the submarine to pieces. But the Germans keep on

building them very fast."

With an oath Buck Hardy expressed the earnest wish that "every one of

them devilish water-snakes" might be blown up. Ted assured him that

such a wish was very generally shared, remarking further in his own

boyish way that German submarines were hated in America all the more

because they virtually made war on the United States long before an

actual and formal state of war existed. Then, returning to the subject

under discussion, he added:

"You see, there's nothing in history like this thing that has come upon

the world. This great war touches everybody and everything, and we've

all got to help in some way."

"Now he's got on the war again!" exclaimed Sweet Jackson, rising to his

feet. "If you men had sense enough to listen to me, you'd shut him up."

Without waiting for a response the most unpopular member of the camping

party spat in his disgust and walked off toward the sleeping loft.

"We've all got to help in some way," repeated Ted, taking no notice of

the interruption,--"either by fighting, giving money, making munitions,

supplying brains or skilled labor, raising crops, or by saving food.

It's got to be done, or there's no telling what may happen."

The boy was again advancing upon dangerous ground and a disturbed

atmosphere was at once perceptible. The slackers were beginning to

realize that the war was a bigger thing and much more exacting in its

demands than they had supposed. But they had chosen their course and

they did not wish to be reminded that duty called them. They shifted

their positions uneasily, yawned, spoke of other things, remarked that

they were sleepy, and one by one rose to their feet. Within a couple of

minutes they had followed Sweet Jackson, only Buck Hardy, July and the

two boys remaining by the fire.

The big slacker kept Ted there for an hour longer, asking questions and

listening to the boy's replies. He seemed to forget to be ashamed of his

ignorance in his eagerness for the latest information. Hubert said

little and July said nothing, the eyes of both traveling back and forth

from the face of Buck to the face of Ted and often betraying admiration

for the latter.

"You certainly put up a good talk," said Hubert, as the boys lay down to

sleep, and this time he even forgot to add: "But it won't do any good."

X

The slackers scattered about their business early next morning and the

two boys were left alone in the camp with July, who had been ordered not

to let them get out of his sight. The negro had glibly promised, but his

sympathies were divided. He was still averse to being forced to go to

the "waw," and to this extent he was still a confederate of the

slackers, but he had developed such admiration and affection for "Cap'n

Ted" that he was now almost as ready to do the boy's bidding as to

respect the wishes of Buck Hardy himself.

So he was not disposed to follow his orders to the letter, and when an

errand called him down to the boat-landing he left the boys alone

without a word. He was hardly out of sight when Hubert became alert,

looked around cautiously, and said to Ted:

"Last night I overheard one of the slackers speak of a jungle trail at

the lower end of this island, and I think he meant a trail that leads

all the way out of the swamp. Let's go and look for it--now that we've

got a chance to walk off by ourselves."

Ted promptly agreed to this proposition, but said that he didn't want to

run away yet. "Mr. Hardy is getting interested in the war," he

explained, "and if we stay a few days longer I may be able to

persuade----"

"Oh, shucks!" scoffed Hubert. "All the talking in the world will never

do any good, as I've told you and told you."

"We'll see," said Ted hopefully. "In the meantime it will be a mighty

good thing to find that trail and know where to make for when we are

ready to start--if we do have to run away."

He caught up his gun as he spoke and they started off in a hurry,

actually running the first two hundred yards in order to be out of sight

before July reappeared.

They first walked about two miles down the backbone of the island,

stopping to look into July's turkey-pen as they went and finding it as

yet empty of feathered prisoners. They then decided to cut across to

the swamp on the right and begin looking for the jungle trail. Their

plan was to follow as nearly as possible the line of demarcation between

the swamp proper and the higher ground, thus rounding the lower half of

the island in the course of some hours and necessarily crossing the

looked-for trail.

To follow the island's rim was obviously the only way to make sure of a

thorough search, but they found it easier to propose than to perform.

Often a detour higher up or lower down the slope was necessary to avoid

bogs, marshy tracts, impregnable clumps of fan-palmettos and tangled

masses of brambles. And often the way was made difficult enough by

reason of the old fallen logs thrown criss-cross or piled high by wind

storms, by dense blackjack thickets, and by crowding swamp undergrowth.

Once they penetrated a cane-brake through which they could scarcely have

forced their way but for passages made by wild animals; for the tall

strong reeds, which stood as straight as arrows, were for the most part

hardly three inches apart. Even along the borders of the comparatively

open pine land which formed the island they were forcibly reminded of

what a wild and remote wilderness the interior of the Okefinokee really

was.

Several times they halted and carefully examined faint suggestions of a

trail, soon pushing forward again unsatisfied. They had passed the lower

end of the island and were returning up the left-hand side, fearing that

their effort had been fruitless, when they at last came upon what Ted

felt convinced was the object of their search.

Having followed the trail two or three hundred yards into the jungle,

they retraced their steps to higher ground, after the wiser Ted had

resolutely rejected Hubert's wild proposal that they push on toward

freedom, unprepared as they were and at whatever risk. It was now near

noon and high time to turn their faces toward camp, for they had already

begun to feel sharp hunger. But they were tired after the long and rough

tramp, and Hubert insisted on at least a short rest. So they lay down on

the soft billowy wiregrass in a high and dry spot inclosed on three

sides by tall clumps of palmettos.

Their rest was short indeed, for Hubert had hardly stretched himself

out, yawning, when Ted heard a rustle in the grass on their left. One

searching glance revealed what appeared to be a wild-cat, crouched

within a few feet of them. As the startled boys sprang to their feet,

the cat's hair stood on end, its eyes flashed with rage and it displayed

its glistening teeth, uttering a low guttural growl. The creature had

evidently been surprised close to its lair, as otherwise it would likely

have made off without show of fight; plainly its back--of dark brownish

gray mottled with black--was up in more than a literal sense.

Ted caught up his gun and fired, but his hurried aim caused him to miss

his mark even at such close quarters. Before he could shoot again the

cat leaped upon him. The shock carried him to his knees, the now useless

gun slipping from his grasp. As the bounding cat came down, its fore

paws struck the boy's chest and clawed through his coat, the creature

snarling furiously the while and blowing its hot breath into his face.

Ted beheld its fiery eyes only a few inches from his own and his hands

flew to its throat.

Exerting all his strength, he held the beast off, but could not prevent

the tearing of his clothes and the painful clawing of his arms and body.

Hubert now came out of his first paralysis of surprise and fright.

Getting out his pocket-knife and opening it as quickly as possible, he

caught the cat by the tail and stabbed it twice in its stomach. Then,

with a maddened snarl, the creature let go its hold on Ted, wrested its

neck from Ted's grasp, and leaped upon Hubert.

"Grab him by the throat!" shouted Ted, staggering to his feet and

reaching for his gun.

Luckily his eye fell on the bloody pocket-knife just dropped by Hubert

and he snatched it up instead of the gun, which he now realized could

not be used at such close quarters without risk of killing his cousin. A

moment later the wild-cat was stabbed in its side; then again and yet

again.

But Hubert was still exposed to the wounded animal's strong sharp claws

which did not relax their hold. So Ted seized the cat's left fore-leg

and pulled with all his might. The throat of the snarling beast, thus

drawn partly away from its victim, was now exposed, and into it Ted

drove the knife to the hilt.

It was all over after that. The cat ceased to struggle, became limp and

dropped to the ground. The battle had been won, but at no small cost.

Both boys were bleeding from several deep scratches and their coats

were badly torn. As all this became painfully evident, Hubert found

himself unable to keep a firm grip on his lachrymal ducts.

"I don't want to cry, Ted," he said, as he sat down heavily, drawing

shuddering breaths and raining tears, "but I c-can't help it."

"You just cry as much as you want to," said the older boy in a

sympathetic voice, adding gratefully: "If it hadn't been for your help

that thing might have scratched my eyes out. Have you noticed that it's

smaller and has a longer tail than the one that jumped into our boat

that morning in the swamp?" he continued. "That one must have been a

lynx and this is just an ordinary wild-cat."

Ted now proceeded to cut a long, stout, green stick. He then fished some

twine out of his pocket and tied the dead wild-cat's feet together.

Thrusting the stick between its legs, he took one end of it and Hubert

the other. Chatting and even laughing cheerfully, in spite of the pain

of their bleeding scratches, they bore their dearly bought prize between

them along the backbone of Deserter's Island.

As they approached the camp they saw that several slackers were still

sitting over their noon meal. July was the first to see the boys and

their burden. A few leaps, and he was beside them; a few words, and he

knew the outline of their story.

"Look yuh, Cap'n Ted," he cried, laughing and gesticulating, "you mean

to say you an' Hubut kill dat wile-cat wid des yo' pocket-knife!"

"That's what we did," declared Hubert, proudly.

"Oh, go 'way!" cried July, gleefully. "Well, well, well, if dat don't

beat all!"

Hardly less enthusiastic were the slackers, who expressed admiration of

the youngsters' pluck and readiness of resource in no mild terms.

"That's the sort of grit I like to see, boys," said Buck Hardy, showing

great pleasure. "Never mind; I'll fix you up," he added, seeing both

boys wince on being patted on the shoulder.

He made them strip and washed their wounds, while Al Peters hunted up a

box of healing salve made from bear's marrow, and Bud Jones, producing

needle and thread, neatly darned their torn coats. Even Sweet Jackson

spoke kindly to the boys on hearing the story later. Everybody seemed

determined to make heroes of them and their story, in response to eager

questions, was told and told again. As long as he talked about the

wild-cat adventure and hunting in general, omitting any mention of the

war, Ted noted that he secured universal, willing and pleased attention.

If these young men so highly valued pluck and victory in a mere struggle

with a wild animal, he thought, why could they not thrill in

contemplation of the true glory of shedding one's blood for one's

country in a war against the foes of the world!

As the boys were eating their dinner, after the dressing of their

wounds, Ted inquired as to the value of wild-cat fur and was told that

it was worth "quite a little." Then, after a few whispered words with

Hubert, he rose and, with quite a grand manner, said:

"Mr. Hardy, my cousin and I wish to present this pelt to you as a small

token of our appreciation of your kindness to us."

Following Ted's lead, Buck also was formal in accepting, walking over

awkwardly and shaking hands, as he said: "This sure is nice of you,

boys; I'll think more of that skin than any I ever had."