The two boys and the negro remained motionless in their places,
wondering what would happen next, until Billy cut down the body of the
headless gander and was about to bear it away. Then July interfered.
"Gim-me dat gander, boy," he said, laughing. "Quit yer foolin' an' gwine
on. We got to hab dat gander for supper."
James now sat with his back to a pine, and Jenkins was bending over him
and wiping away the blood with a wet handkerchief. The latter, seeing
that the cut was little more than a painful scratch, began to jest and
laugh, the atmosphere of tragedy being thus quickly dispersed. Having
salved the wound, predicting a speedy healing, Jenkins turned to seek
Jackson and "give him a talking to." The "knife-slinger" was pointedly
informed that if he wanted to have a single friend left in the camp, he
had better keep a grip on himself in future. Listening to this forcible
utterance of common sense, Jackson rapidly cooled down, ceasing his
profane and threatening speeches.
And so, in spite of the violent termination of the festive
gander-pulling, the slackers soon recovered their wonted spirits. After
supper, with the exception of the wounded man who went immediately to
bed, they sat about the fire and joked, sang corn-shucking songs, and
drank corn-beer, in the greatest possible good humor.
But July smiled covertly and shook his head, as soon as he found
opportunity thus forcibly expressing himself:
"Look yuh, Cap'n Ted, I got to git away fum dis place befo' somebody
draw a knife on me an' cut my throat."
"We'll get away to-night," said the boy confidently.
"We got a good chance," assented July. "After all dat jollification dem
mens'll sleep hard, cep'n it's Mr. James wid dat cut face. You better
look out for _him_. You better not move a foot till 'way late 'bout two
o'clock."
Hubert fell asleep soon after they had lain down on their bed of moss in
the corner of the loft, but Ted lay awake for hours, listening and
waiting. He had been rendered the more anxious by a suggestion that was
made as the slackers were taking off their shoes and preparing to lie
down.
"Don't you reckon we'd better tie them boys?" proposed Sweet Jackson.
"Oh, no," answered the more humane Jenkins. "They've had their lesson."
Jackson did not seem to think it necessary to insist and the boys were
left in freedom of hand and foot, to their great relief. But the
restlessness of James was a continuing source of apprehension, his
smarting face causing him to turn frequently with a grunt or sigh or
muttered exclamation of annoyance.
At last Ted began to fear that there was no hope of stealing out of the
loft that night, and in the midst of his discouragement sleep overtook
him.
When he awoke all was quiet, except for the snoring of several of the
men. Zack James, who had been restless so long, now lay still and made
no sound. Ted did not know why, but he felt convinced that it was near
morning. Lifting himself guardedly upon his knees, he bent over his
sleeping cousin, shook him and whispered in his ear.
Hubert stirred sleepily and began a stupid muttering in a voice
seemingly so loud that Ted was terrified, allowing the boy to relapse
into slumber. After listening intently and hearing no disturbance, Ted
tried again and this time roused Hubert to complete wakefulness without
noise.
The two then crept along the wall until they stood opposite the hole in
the floor. As they did this, Ted, who led the way, stumbled over an
outstretched foot and narrowly escaped falling. The disturbed sleeper
grunted, muttered a few unintelligible words, turned over, and all was
quiet again. Just as the boys were preparing to swing themselves down
through the opening, not daring to put down the ladder, one of the
sleepers stirred noisily, and they heard the voice of James demanding:
"Who's that?"
Drawing back into the deep shadow, the boys stood silent, holding their
very breath. The challenge was repeated. Then, for perhaps a quarter of
an hour, Ted and Hubert stood in their tracks, hardly moving a muscle,
breathing softly, and fearing that even the beating of their hearts
would be heard.
Convinced at last that the wounded man had relapsed into slumber, they
noiselessly swung themselves down through the opening and dropped softly
to the ground below. Several dogs, lying asleep beneath the loft, rose
and followed the boys with signs of great cheerfulness, evidently
anticipating a night hunt.
The first need was to "turn July out," as Hubert put it. This consisted
merely in lifting away the heavy section of a log braced against the
makeshift door of the prison-pen, and was soon accomplished without
noise. July came forth, rubbing his eyes, and whispering:
"I clean give you out an' went to sleep. It's mose daylight," he added,
"an' we better be gwine quick."
"Let's take the dogs, so that they can't use 'em to track us," suggested
Ted. "We can make 'em come back after we get a good start of five or six
miles. I wish I could keep Spot," he added, referring to the dog that
had so devotedly battled with the panther.
July agreed to this, and the dogs were called softly. The whole pack,
five in number, followed gladly, as the boys and the negro hurried away
from the camp. It had been decided on the evening before to take the
jungle trail leading from the lower end of Deserters' Island, and they
now moved in that direction. The intervening miles of high pine land
were covered with the greatest possible speed. Wherever the ground was
sufficiently open they ran, and even in the brush they pushed forward
rapidly, careless of scratched hands and faces or torn clothing.
Faint light filtered through the treetops from the whitening sky before
they had traversed half the length of the island, and by the time they
reached its limit birds on every hand were singing their welcome to the
arrival of a new day. The fugitives now observed with considerable
concern that the dogs had disappeared, surmising that they had
recognized the difference between a flight and a hunt and in consequence
had returned to camp.
They soon found the trail and hurried down into the jungle, careless of
the mud and water, the thorny brambles, the possible moccasins. They
knew that within an hour's time the pursuit would begin and recognized
the need of great haste at any cost.
July, who led the way, paused suddenly; and, opening the tin bucket
carried on his arm, urged the boys to take some of the sandwiches
therein and stuff them in their pockets.
"May be hard to keep togedder when dey come at' us wid de dawgs," he
said,--adding: "But if you boys git lost fum me, you keep gwine on by
yo'self till you git out de swamp an' find yo' way home."
Pressing on with the utmost energy for an hour longer, and not as yet
hearing any sounds indicating pursuit, they began to feel more secure;
and soon, at the urgent suggestion of Hubert, they sat down on a log to
refresh themselves with some of the cold food while resting their
wearying legs.
"We got to be gwine!" cried July less than fifteen minutes later.
He had sprung to his feet as the distant baying of dogs fell on his ear.
All knew at once that the slackers were again on their trail and that
there was no time to lose.
Again the negro led the way, taking new precautions and urging the boys
to do precisely as he did. As he dashed forward over the difficult
ground, he jumped from tussock to tussock, stepped upon roots and masses
of dry moss, and avoided every bit of soft exposed earth where a track
would remain imprinted. Whenever a fallen log ran parallel with their
course, he sprang upon it and walked its full length. Once he made a
complete circle, two hundred yards or more in diameter; then, springing
upon a fallen log several feet beyond the limits of this circle, and
directing the boys to do likewise, he pressed forward again over the
direct course.
All this was intended to confuse and delay the dogs, if it did not throw
them off the scent altogether; but in no great while it appeared to have
succeeded only in a small measure. For the baying, instead of gradually
fading away in the distance as desired, after ceasing for a time became
more vigorous than ever and unmistakably drew nearer. Soon July halted,
looked round, and waited for the boys to overtake him.
"Dem dawgs'll be yuh in no time," he said, discouraged.
"Will they bite us?" asked Hubert apprehensively.
"No; they know us," said Ted. "We could shoot them," he added, facing
the negro, a question in his tone. "I'd hate to do it, and I don't think
I _could_ shoot Spot, but we have a right to do it."
Ted and Hubert carried their small guns. The negro was armed only with a
hatchet and a heavy butcher-knife, the blade of which gleamed brightly
where it stuck in his belt.
"Better let me go for 'em wid de hatchet or dis knife," said July,
shaking his head. "Soon's you shoot dem mens'll know 'zackly where we
is."
Further discussion was checked by the warning of a yelp very close in
their rear. Bidding the boys conceal themselves, July ran back a few
yards over the trail and took his stand behind a large tree trunk.
As the foremost dog was about to trot past, the negro leaned over and
dealt it a terrific blow on the head with the butt end of the hatchet,
breaking through its skull. With a stifled cry in its throat, the dog
rolled over and lay in the struggle of approaching death, whereupon the
four others coming up shied away from the unseen danger and took to
their heels on the backward track with yelps of affright.
After Ted had gladly taken note that the slain dog was not Spot, the
three fugitives hurried onward as before, and for an hour they heard
nothing more from the dogs. Finally a subdued and, as it seemed, muffled
yelp began to be heard at intervals. July looked puzzled and several
times paused to listen, showing great anxiety when he became convinced
that the sounds were drawing nearer. At last he said he believed that
the slackers held the dogs in leash, their object being to steal upon
the unsuspecting fugitives while they halted to rest in fancied
security.
"If we ain't quick dey'll nab us befo' we know it," the negro concluded.
"Can't we put the dogs off the scent in some way?" asked Ted, looking
about him.
They were now in a dense growth of water-oaks and other trees, gay with
the full green leafage of spring; and some little distance ahead water
could be seen.
"I believe we could climb up and swing from limb to limb until we got
out yonder over that water," eagerly proposed Ted. "Then we could drop
down and wade as far as the water went, then climb up again, and, if the
trees keep thick enough, go quite a long way. _That_ would break the
trail."
"It sho will," assented July, "if only we kin do it. May be easy for you
light boys, but hit won't be so easy for me."
"Let's try it anyhow," urged Ted, and they at once began preparations.
By means of stout twine, much of which they had fortunately stuffed into
their pockets, Ted securely strapped his gun on his back. July having
disposed of Hubert's gun and his own bucket in the same way, giving
Hubert the hatchet in exchange, and all now having arms as well as legs
free, they began to climb.
For once, Hubert led the way. Lifting himself among the larger branches
of a spreading water-oak, he found it comparatively easy to walk out on
a lower limb--while grasping a higher--until he could lay hold of an
interlacing branch and swing himself safely among the larger arms of a
neighboring tree. Repeating this performance, he passed on from tree to
tree.
Ted followed readily enough, for, though older, he was no heavier than
Hubert, and was even more active; but he lingered behind to watch and
softly encourage July. Because of his far greater weight and the bending
of the branches beneath him, the negro might well hesitate and move
cautiously. He soon saw that his only hope was in a bold leap into the
branches of the neighboring tree, trusting to his quick, firm grasp to
arrest his descent to the ground.
The sound of a muffled yelp from the dogs, unmistakably coming from a
point only a short distance away, spurred July on, and he took the
dangerous leap, landing among the stout branches of the neighboring tree
unharmed save for scratches and bruises which he scarcely felt.
"You can do it," Ted called back softly, by way of encouragement. "Come
on as fast as you can."
"Don't wait on me," said July. "I'll git dere bimeby. You boys hurry
on."
So Ted followed faster on the track of Hubert. Within a few minutes from
the start the boys had transported themselves more than a hundred yards
without setting foot on the ground and were soon over the water. They
then let themselves down, waded knee-deep some fifty yards among
scattering cypress trees, grasped a low limb of another water-oak, swung
themselves up and were once more traveling, monkey-like, aloft.
"You go ahead, Hubert," said Ted. "I'll wait here till I see July
coming."
Hubert went on and Ted waited. But he waited in vain, for July was in
trouble. After leaping successfully three or four times, at last--while
the boys were wading across the cypress pool--July failed to gain a firm
hold of the branches through which his heavy body descended, and, though
his fall was broken by the leafy obstructions, he struck the ground with
great force and was for a few moments partially stunned.
A sudden yelping of the dogs now very close at hand roused him to
action. Struggling to his feet, he laid hold of the tree into which he
had attempted to jump, and climbed with some difficulty into its
branches. The unfortunate negro saw that it was now too late to jump
again, even if he dared to do so, badly shaken as he was, and that his
forlorn and only resource was to conceal himself as best he could in
the higher foliage of the tree.
Scarcely had the trembling of the leaves and branches subsided when the
pursuers were heard very near at hand, July promptly recognizing the
voices of Sweet Jackson, Jim Carter and two other men belonging to the
camp. They held the dogs in leash, as the negro had suspected, but were
marching with the greatest possible speed. Reaching the point where the
trail came to an end, the dogs one and all halted, snuffing the air in a
mystified way, and could hardly be forced forward.
"They must be round h-yer some'rs," the harsh voice of Sweet Jackson
declared.
"Mebby they tuck a tree," suggested Carter.
A silence followed, and July understood only too well that the members
of the party had separated and were scanning the neighboring treetops.
Suddenly one of the dogs began to bay immediately beneath him, and a few
moments later the triumphant voice of Carter was heard:
"H-yer's one of 'em up this tree!"