Great was the delight of Billy, and outspoken the admiration and
surprise of all, when Ted and Hubert dragged their prize into the camp
on Deserters' Island. Everybody seemed pleased except Sweet Jackson.
While the latest slackers to arrive were questioning and complimenting
Ted around the camp fire after supper, Jackson began to laugh in a
sneering sort of way and presently remarked to nobody in particular:
"_He_ says if we waste a ounce o' meat we won't be able to whip them
Germans. Then he kills a bear when we don't need the meat and right on
top o' that he ketches a young cub. Very fine to talk! I've seen
preachers that didn't live up to ther preachin' before to-day."
Ted broke the silence that followed.
"I confessed I was wrong the other time," he said, "but I thought this
was different. We could have shot the mother, but we didn't. As for the
cub, even if we can't tame it it can be kept until it is needed for
food. Do you think it can be tamed, Mr. Hardy?"
"Don't worry, kid; you're all right, whether you can tame it or not,"
said Buck, after a steady look at Sweet Jackson that produced a
noticeably sobering effect. "I saw a bear cub chained to a pole near a
shanty on Billy's Island once, but it looked mighty wild and thin and
down-in-the-mouth. I don't reckon they can be tamed without the help of
one o' them circus men who knows how. This one's pretty apt to die--if
it don't get away."
Ted looked very serious and fell silent. He lingered about the fire only
until he had asked for news about the war from one "Mitch" Jenkins, a
young man who had fled to the Okefinokee to escape the new draft,
joining the other slackers at their camp only that afternoon. Finding
that the newcomer had no news to impart of any importance, Ted soon
confessed that he was tired and went off with Hubert to bed, there to
lie awake a long while.
As soon as he was assured by their heavy breathing and snoring that the
slackers were all asleep, the boy crept to the door in the floor,
quietly put down the ladder and descended. Fifteen minutes later he was
back in his bed. In the morning there was quite a commotion when it was
discovered that the cub had escaped, although supposedly it was
altogether secure. Nobody noticed that Ted did not look surprised. The
boy kept his secret, regretting his act only at moments in the presence
of the hapless Billy's grief.
Ted consoled the quickly forgetful half-wit with the present of a silver
quarter, and soon gave all his thought to more important matters. For
after breakfast July called him aside and said with a very serious face:
"Come go wid me to de turkey pen; I got sump'n to tell you."
"I haven't seen Mr. Hardy this morning," remarked Ted, as he walked away
from the camp with the negro.
"Dat's what I got to tell you. He on his way out de swamp. Dat new man,
Mr. Jinkins, brung de news dat Mr. Hardy's ma sick, an' bright an' early
dis mawnin' he started out. An' what's mose as bad, Mr. Peters an' Mr.
Jones gone wid 'im to fetch in some supplies. Dem three treats me de
bes' of all of 'em in dis camp, an' dey's yo' bes' friends, too."
A sudden heart-sinking caused Ted's voice to be shaken as he asked when
they expected to get back.
"Mr. Peters an' Mr. Jones say dey comin' right back--in two, three days.
But how you gwine to calkilate on Mr. Hardy?" July stopped in his tracks
and gazed solemnly into Ted's eyes. "Sposen his ma keep sick an' he stay
dere till she die or git better? An' while he waitin', sposen dey grab
him an' sen' him to do waw? We'd never see him yuh no mo'."
Ted's face brightened momentarily and he said:
"If--if I thought he would go to the war willingly, I--I could give him
up."
"You sho is a cap'n," said July, looking down on the boy with
admiration, "for I reckon you know it'll be mighty diffunt in dis camp
wid Mr. Hardy gone."
"I know," said Ted, very serious. "I've been thinking about it."
"Fum de very fust day he stan' between you boys and dat rough crowd.
An' dat puts me in mind o' what I got to tell you."
July suddenly fell silent. They were now near the turkey pen or trap,
and a fluttering of wings against its bars showed that their trip was
not to be without substantial gain. Two wild turkeys were captive in the
pen. Having taken these out with much elation, clipped their wings, tied
their feet together, and scattered more shelled corn to attract fresh
victims, July lifted his fluttering burden, started on the backward
track, and resumed:
"De las' words Mr. Hardy say to me was, 'July, tek good care o' dem
boys,' and I aim to do my level bes' right now. Cap'n Ted, lem me give
you a piece o' advice: don't you go to talkin' to dem t'other mens 'bout
dat waw, let 'lone exhortin' and shamin' 'em like de way you done. Hit
won't do; hit won't begin to do. You sho must know dat yo'self."
"I understand," said Ted, gloomily.
"If Mr. Peters an' Mr. Jones was dere, you might say a little, but
better be careful any time. I kin keep you boys in good vittles, but I
can't keep dem mens fum cuffin' you round if dey git mad. So, do please
'member what I tell you."
After Ted had gratefully thanked him July went on to express the
conviction that if Buck had not gone away in such a great hurry he would
have left the boys better protected; he would have insisted that Peters
and Jones stay at the camp in his absence and that two other men go out
for the supplies.
"But I reckon he was so worried 'bout his ma dat he couldn't think of
eve'thing. He didn't forgit you, dough. He tole dem mens he wanted to
take you-all out wid 'im. He say you been in dis swamp long enough an'
you ought to be home. But dey wouldn't hear to it and dey voted him
down. He was too worried an' busy gittin' ready to tussle wid 'em long,
so he give up. But he tole 'em if anything happen to you boys while he
gone dey'd have to answer to him."
"He's a gentleman," said Ted. "I can't understand why he ever came into
this swamp, but I know what he is."
"So dat's de way it stans," said July, as they were approaching the
camp. "Now, Cap'n Ted, you tell Hubut all I tole you, an' den you boys
mus walk easy an' watch out. If anybody starts sump'n, don't let it be
you."
Ted soon found opportunity to tell Hubert and was surprised to find that
his cousin received the news more or less cheerfully.
"Now we may be able to get away from here," said Hubert. "I've wanted to
go all the time, but you had notions in your head and were never ready.
I liked your spunk, Ted, and I thought the way you talked to the
slackers was fine; but I knew it would never do any good, and I thought
it was foolish for us not to run away at the first chance."
"I wanted to try to do a little to help win the war," said Ted, rather
pathetically, as if by way of excuse for error, as if wondering whether,
after all, Hubert had been right and he had been wrong.
He sighed deeply, lacking in sufficient experience of life to know that
even the greatest souls have moments of depression wherein they are
doubtful as to whether the very purest and highest aspiration or
endeavor is worth while or even justifiable before the bar of good
sense.
"We must get ready and watch for our chance," said Hubert, and Ted,
sighing again, uttered no word of dissent.
That day, devoted in considerable part to the discussion of plans,
passed without important incident. The slackers came and went, the boys
kept mostly to themselves, discreetly remaining within the borders of
the camp, and there was peace. But at supper they noticed a studied
coolness toward them, particularly in the larger group of which Sweet
Jackson was the center. While the boys spoke and acted with all
discretion, Jackson stared at them often, talking in a low voice to
those about him. His grudge against Ted was plainly visible and he
seemed to be trying to stir up the other men against him. The boys went
off to bed early, much troubled in mind. At the camp fire the next night
Sweet Jackson deliberately stepped out of his path in order to hook his
toe under Ted's outstretched leg and give it a rude and vicious shove.
"Why can't you keep yer feet out o' the road?" he shouted angrily.
"Why don't you do that to a man of your size?" cried Ted in hot
indignation.
"_Size_ don't bother me when I get good and mad," declared Jackson
menacingly.
"Oh, Billy, don't you want to play a game!" called out Hubert in the
most cheerful voice. "Come on, Ted."
Then Hubert jerked Ted to his feet and pulled him away in the direction
of the imaginary Billy, who was, in fact, nowhere to be seen. "_Don't_
answer him back," whispered the younger boy urgently. "If you do, we'll
have trouble. Keep away from him!"
Thus the incident passed and with it any immediate danger, thanks to
Hubert's ready and resolute interference.
The next day at breakfast and dinner July served the boys after the
slackers had eaten and scattered--at Hubert's suggestion. And at supper
he fed them with Billy at the cook-camp fire about forty feet apart from
the fire around which the slackers ate and lounged. Sweet Jackson
observed the new arrangement with a mocking smile, looking over at the
cook-camp often as he talked merrily with those about him.
"That's right," he called out once. "Stay there with the nigger, where
you belong."
Ted started up, furious, but Hubert hung upon him on one side and Billy,
giggling and thinking it was a kind of game, hung upon him on the other.
"_Don't!_" warned Hubert.
And then, as several of the slackers spoke up in protest, Jackson made
no further hostile demonstration.
Too outraged to speak, or even to think clearly, Ted soon rose and
almost literally staggered off to bed.
"We'll have to go--to-day or to-night," were his first words to Hubert
next morning, after a sleepless night.
This was at breakfast, after the slackers had scattered. He had
purposely stayed in bed late in order to avoid them. He now spoke while
the negro noisily cleaned his pots.
"Well, I've pumped July about all the trails leading out he knows of,"
said Hubert, "and all we've got to do is to make a choice and beat it at
the first chance."
Suddenly the negro turned from his pots and planted himself in front of
the two boys, his face very serious.
"Cap'n Ted," he began, "you reckon I kin 'pend on what you said 'bout
gittin' a cook's job behind de lines in dat waw?"
"I can't say for certain, July, but I think you can."
"Well, I got to tek de risk anyhow," the negro announced with an air of
finality. "I's gwine out o' dis swamp. I's done wid dat gang o' white
trash. I got my dose. I gwine out wid you boys."
"That's great," cried Hubert. "But what's happened, July?"
"Dis mawnin' when I was workin' de bes' I knowd how an' givin' dem men
good vittles, dey up an' made fun o' my hair. Dat-ere Sweet Jackson
'lowed dat a nigger wasn't a rale human pusson because, stid o' hair, he
had wool on his haid. Den dey all looked at me an' laughed till dey
shook. I wished I could 'a' tole 'em dey was a liar and a-busted 'em
wide open!"
"That was very unkind," said Ted, struggling hard, as did Hubert, not to
laugh.
"I reckon you boys done had all you want o' dat gang yo'sef," said July,
"an' in as big a hurry to git away fum yuh as I is."
"Yes," agreed Hubert. "This is the fourth day and Mr. Peters and Mr.
Jones haven't come back. There's no telling _when_ Mr. Hardy will come.
Even Ted hasn't anything to stay for now."
"I wanted so much to try to wake up some of the slackers and make them
see," said Ted, "but I'm afraid I can't do anything now. I give up," he
concluded, a big tear rolling down one cheek.
"Cap'n Ted, honey, don't you worry," said July, with sympathy. "You done
yo' bes' and dat's all a man kin do. It look' to me sometimes like you
was gwine to git Mr. Hardy an' maybe Mr. Peters, but you couldn't 'a'
done nothin' wid dat white trash left yuh in dis swamp. If dey was
_dragged_ to de waw dey would des lay down an' let de Germans walk on
'em. I use' to hear a white gen'l'man say, 'you can't mek a silk purse
out'n a sow's ear,' an' I putty nigh busted my head tryin' to understan'
what he meant, but I knows now he was talkin' 'bout des sich trash as
dat. Don't you worry, Cap'n Ted; de President an' de gov'ment'll tek
care o' dat waw."
"We haven't any time to waste," spoke up Hubert impatiently, proposing
that they at once decide on a plan and begin to get ready. He asked the
negro if they could run away that very day.
July replied promptly that it wouldn't do to attempt to escape in the
day time because since Mr. Hardy's departure the camp had been
continually under observation from morning till evening. He said the
break for freedom would have to be made at night "when dey ain't
expectin'." With this much settled, they went on to discuss routes, and
decided that a game of hide-and-seek led by Billy should be the form of
camouflage masking their start on their road that night after supper.
The boys were still discussing plans when the majority of the slackers
came into camp for dinner, and, as the new man, Mitch' Jenkins, passed
near where they sat, Ted suddenly got upon his feet and asked eagerly
for news from the Russian front.
"Now just look at him," muttered Hubert impatiently. "Will I ever get
him away from this place?"
"Oh, Mr. Jenkins," began Ted, in his politest manner, just as if nothing
disagreeable had occurred, "I've been wanting to ask you if, before you
came in, you heard whether Germany and Russia had made peace or not."
"I didn't hear no talk of it," said Jenkins, eying the boy curiously.
"They had been about to make peace," said Ted, "but just before I came
in here they were on the point of going to war again. It was reported
that the Russians had threatened to kill 1,500,000 German prisoners of
war if the Kaiser marched his army on Petrograd. That would have been
perfectly awful, but it's just the kind of thing the Germans themselves
did in Belgium and France. I hope they haven't made peace; it's best for
us for them to keep on fighting."
"You take a heap of interest, for just a boy, in that war 'way off
yonder," said Jenkins, his manner not unfriendly.
"Everybody ought to take an interest, for we are in the fight, too, you
know," said Ted, forgetting and becoming argumentative. "Why, don't you
see, if the Germans whip all Europe and get England's fleet, they'll
come right over here and attack us, and wherever they land our people
will have to stand all the terrible things the Belgians and the French
have had to stand."
"Here you are a-talkin' about that war again!" stormed Sweet Jackson,
who had walked up in time to hear a few words.
"Look h-yer, Jackson, I don't see nothin' the matter with this boy,"
said Jenkins, his tone sharp and his look steady. "Why are you so sot
agin him? He jes' asked me if two of them fightin' countries had made
peace."
"Oh, well--if that was all," said Jackson more quietly, yielding before
unexpected belligerence.
"Thank you, Mr. Jenkins," said Ted politely, and turned away.
"That's a nice, polite kid," said Jenkins to one of the slackers a few
moments later. "What's all the row about anyhow?"
"But you ain't heard him exhortin' and shamin' us runaways yet."
"Did he do that? Well, that's a cat of another color. But he sure is a
spunky kid."
After supper that night, as the slackers told yarns and joked about the
camp fire, Billy, who had been craftily stimulated, seemed unusually
wide awake and repeated nursery rhymes and "rigmaroles" by the dozen.
Taking Hubert's hand in his, he touched the fingers one after another,
repeating, "Little man--ring man--long man--lick pot--thumpkin." Then,
tweaking the toes of his own bare feet, he merrily recited: "This little
pig wants some corn; this one says, 'Where you goin' to git it?' This
one says, 'In master's barn.' This one says he's goin' to tell. This one
says, 'Queak!--queak!--can't git over the door-sill!'"
Touching first Hubert's index finger and then his own as each word was
uttered, Billy went on: "William Ma-trimble-toe; he's a good fisherman;
catches hens, puts 'em in pens; some lays eggs, some lays none; wire,
briar, limber-lock; sets and sits till twelve o'clock; O-U-T spells
'out'--go!"
Thus was started the camouflage game of hide-and-seek, Ted at once, and
July a little later by invitation, joining in the sport. It was a bright
moonlight night, and no one seemed sleepy. The slackers stopped telling
their yarns and watched the game, the seemingly joyful laughter of the
boys and the negro affecting them agreeably. The fun was so contagious
that several of the younger slackers, yielding to the fascination of it,
joined in the game.
"Ten--ten--double ten--forty-five--fifteen hundred--are you all hid?"
shouted Billy in great glee and with an air of vast importance. And such
whooping and running and hiding in far dark recesses as followed!
"Now's de time!" whispered July, when the fun was at its height, and he
and Ted and Hubert had run off and squatted together behind the same
clump of palmettos.
According to the plan agreed to, the negro was now to run down to the
landing-place, step into the water and hide all the boats as far out in
the thick growth of the submerged swamp as he dared to go, thus
conveying the impression that the fugitives had escaped by way of the
great marsh.
The course of the game now compelled the conspirators to separate and
return to headquarters; but as soon as the next rush for cover was made
the boys saw the negro dart away in the direction of the landing, and
until he returned they played more enthusiastically and noisily than
ever in order to distract attention from his absence. When he reappeared
at last his trousers were wet to the knees, but this did not seem to
attract notice. It was understood that the first rush for cover in the
game after his return was to begin the dash for freedom.
So when the boys saw the negro again dart away along the path into the
swamp-cane, they followed fast with throbbing hearts, arriving at the
boat-landing before Billy had finished the last recitation of his
"rigmarole." There Ted and Hubert were given their guns and July
snatched up a bucket of food--all of which he had cunningly conveyed
thither since the beginning of the game. The negro promptly stepped into
the water and bade the boys follow.
"Got to wade round a piece to fool dem dogs," he whispered.