The dog had snuffed the spot where he fell to the ground, and poor July
was discovered.
"It's the nigger," announced Carter after a few moments.
"Shoot 'im if he don't git down from there quick," cried Jackson,
savagely.
Instantly the branches of the water-oak began to tremble, and July
descended with all speed.
"Now where's them boys?" demanded his captors.
"I dun-know where dey is."
Curses greeted this denial, and Jackson threatened to "break every bone"
in the negro's body if he did not reveal the hiding place of the boys at
once.
"I tell you I dun-know," insisted July, determined to prevent the
capture of his young confederates if he could possibly do so. "All I
know is," he lied boldly, "dey got lost fum me 'way back yonder where we
fout de dawgs."
Abusive exclamations of incredulity were supplemented by Carter with the
warning:
"That was Rafe Wheeler's dog you killed, and I reckon he'll make you see
sights before he's done with you."
July knew that there was trouble ahead of him in any case, and as he
obediently followed his captors while they beat the neighboring bush,
endeavoring in vain to start the dogs on the scent, he stuck to his
story, unblushingly inventing incidents with a view to impart to it an
atmosphere of convincing reality.
As Ted waited and watched for July, he noted that the spreading branches
of the water-oak embraced the trunk of an immense old decaying cypress,
and that there was a circular opening in its side a foot or two above
him and only a few feet away. Plainly there was a large hollow--possibly
the result of some past forest fire--for the opening was at least two
feet in diameter. He saw also that, by moving a foot or two nearer on
the limb supporting his weight, he could grasp the sides of the opening
and perhaps enter the hollow.
He now heard the murmur of voices and listened intently, fearing that
the pursuers had arrived and put an end to July's chances of escape. The
voices grew louder, and then the tramp of feet was heard, but still Ted
lingered, owing both to his concern for July's safety and his eagerness
to know the definite issue.
Then, before he realized that they were so near, the slackers appeared
with the dogs and July himself on the other side of the cypress pool and
began to wade across.
Ted now perceived that he was in peril. It was too late to hurry on the
trail of Hubert, for the noise and leafy commotion inevitably
accompanying his passage from tree to tree would at once attract
attention. Doubtless Hubert was far enough away to be reasonably safe
and could for the time be left to take care of himself. At all events
Ted realized that his own safety could be his only immediate concern,
and that it was necessary not only to keep quiet but to hide.
Therefore, without a moment's delay, he moved guardedly out on the
bending limb, leaned forward and grasped the sides of the cypress's
hollow, which fortunately proved to be firm. Drawing himself up quietly,
he thrust his feet through the opening and slid into the hollow with
but little noise. As he did so, a large squirrel whisked past him with a
frightened squeak and scurried wildly up the sides of the cypress.
"I never saw such a piece of good luck," Ted declared afterward,
relating that the hollow was neither too big nor too little, and that
his feet landed on a firm bottom just far enough below the opening to
permit him to stand comfortably and look out.
But when he looked out he could see little more than the foliage of the
water-oak. He listened intently as the slackers waded across the pool.
He hoped that they would turn aside, but they seemed to come straight
on. A few moments later the dogs made a noisy rush and he heard them
barking excitedly immediately beneath the cypress. Convinced that he had
been scented and was now "treed," the boy feared that one of the
slackers would promptly climb up and drag him from his hiding place.
But he kept quiet and still hoped for some fortunate turn of events.
Tempted to lean out and look down, he drew his head back quickly and
almost held his breath. He had glimpsed two men tramping around in the
shallow water beneath the oak and looking up into its branches.
Evidently the opening in the side of the cypress had not yet been
discovered, as there was no triumphant outcry, and at this thought Ted
felt somewhat encouraged. He now heard the impatient voice of Carter:
"_I_ don't see nothin'. What's the matter with them dogs anyhow?"
Then came the voice of July, speaking at a greater distance:
"Look at dat fox-squirrel!--skippin' round 'way up in de top o' dat
cypress! Dat's what ail de dawgs."
Ted blessed the squirrel for the good service it had evidently performed
by changing its position and immediately attracting the eye of those
below because of the cypress's characteristically thin leafage.
"I reckon that's it," said Garter.
"It sho is," insisted July, "for dem boys is a fur ways fum yuh des like
I tole you."
"Don't care how fur--I'll git 'em 'fore I quit," the angry voice of
Sweet Jackson was then heard.
"Drive them dogs away from there and come on."
The dogs were called off, the voices became only a faint murmur, the
noisy tramping through water subsided, and soon the ordinary quiet of
the forest reigned. Recovering his wonted spirits, Ted laughed softly,
but remained motionless for twenty minutes or more. He would have waited
still longer but for his anxiety in regard to the whereabouts and fate
of Hubert.
Climbing out of the hollow, he let himself down into the shallow water
beneath the oak and whistled softly. He whistled again a little more
loudly, and was then immensely gratified to receive a cautious response.
Whistling softly, the boys approached each other and soon stood face to
face. Then each quickly told his story.
"Yes, I heard 'em," said Hubert, "and I was almost too scared to
breathe. I stayed up in my tree as quiet as a mouse. I was awfully
afraid they'd get you as well as July."
They hurried on their way as they talked, and soon left the neighborhood
far behind. It was now midday and, being no longer in fear of immediate
capture, the boys had leisure to discover that they were tired as well
as hungry. So they stopped to rest and eat what remained of the cold
bread and meat given them by July. But they knew that there was no time
to be lost and within less than half an hour they were pushing forward
again.
Soon after they had penetrated the jungle that morning, the trail
gradually faded away until July doubted whether they had found the right
one in the first place; and, after the dogs were heard on their track,
the negro made no further effort to follow it, but pushed ahead in the
general direction taken, choosing the most open and passable ground.
This was Ted's plan now.
Toward mid-afternoon the ground began slowly to rise before them, and
the forest growth to become less dense, until finally they emerged from
the jungle region altogether and found themselves on an open pine ridge
where the ground was covered with wiregrass and dotted with clumps of
fan-palmettoes. They believed they were now, at last, clear of the great
swamp, but tramped on without any exchange of congratulatory
exclamations, not daring to jubilate too soon.
"This looks like the outside," was all Hubert said, and Ted merely
admitted: "It looks good to me."
"I smell smoke," said Hubert a few minutes later.
They had now tramped out into the open pine woods some half a mile, and
the wind blowing into their faces wafted a distinctly smoky odor,
suggesting a forest fire. The probability of this was shortly confirmed
by the sight of fleeing birds, and here and there an animal, as a deer,
a fox or a skunk making rapidly toward the flooded swamp area.
"Somebody must be burnin' off the woods for the cattle," said Ted,
elated. "If that's it, we are certainly out of the swamp at last."
He referred to the common practice in the region bordering the
Okefinokee of firing the woods in spring in order to destroy the year's
crop of tough wiregrass and so give place to a tender green growth on
which the cattle might feed to better advantage.
In no great while the boys could see the fire itself here and there, and
ere long they were confronted by an unbroken barrier of flame extending
across the whole ridge. Their position was becoming dangerous, and Ted
looked around in some anxiety. The swamp half a mile behind was a
certain refuge, and he believed that they could reach it ahead of the
fire, but he was reluctant to turn back. While hesitating, his eye fell
upon a small cypress pond some three hundred yards to the left, and,
calling on Hubert to follow, he started toward it on a run.
Ted felt confident that, even if there were no water in the pond, the
fire would not burn through it. "Pond" is hardly an accurate description
of these little groves of a dozen or two of cypresses so frequently
found in the pine barrens, although they are always on low, swampy
ground, which in wet weather is likely to be covered with a foot or two
of water. A small pool about twenty feet in diameter lingered in the
center of this one, but the boys did not wade into it. As soon as they
stood among the cypress "knees" and trod upon spongy ground covered with
damp pine needles they felt safe.
During a few minutes hot and almost stifling smoke filled the
surrounding atmosphere, but the fire itself merely burned round the
edges of the pond and then passed on its roaring way, the wind soon
carrying off the smoke also. After waiting some little time for the
ashes of the burnt grass to cool, the boys came out of their retreat and
picked their way across the blackened ground. The wiregrass had entirely
disappeared before the flames, but the tall pines, the scrub-oaks and
the clumps of fan-palmettos stood for the most part intact. Here and
there some fallen and well-seasoned log still burned vigorously, and in
a few instances fire had run up on the oozing sap to the tops of the
tallest trees.
Ted and Hubert tramped over the blackened and heated earth about a mile
and a half, always hoping soon to see the clearing and log house of some
backwoods settler. But when at last they reached a "hammock" growth and
descended through it to the borders of a vast "prairie" or marsh, in
every respect similar to the one adjoining Deserters' Island, this
pleasing hope became a sigh of regret.
It was now quite clear that they were still within the borders of the
great Okefinokee, and that they had just traversed one of its islands or
areas of elevated land. The origin of the fire puzzled Ted at first, but
he concluded that some of the slackers, or hunters from the outside,
had recently been there and had neglected to extinguish or clear a space
about their camp-fire.
"It's going to rain," said Ted, looking up at the darkening sky, "and
we'd better fix our camp right away."
A favorable spot on the outskirts of the hammock was chosen, and they
hurriedly erected a "brush tent," or lean-to, similar to those they had
heard the slackers speak of building when too far away to return to camp
for the night. When the fugitives began their tree-top retreat that
morning, July had relieved Hubert of his gun and given the boy his
hatchet in exchange. With the hatchet the boys now cut down a slender
sapling which they tied at each end with bear-grass thongs to two small
trees about ten feet apart. Against this cross-bar, which was about four
feet from the ground, eight or ten other cut saplings were leaned at an
angle of about forty-five degrees and less than a foot apart. Over these
were then arranged about a hundred palmetto fans cut within a few feet
of the spot, thus forming a thatch which was protected against gusts of
wind by two or three other saplings laid diagonally across. They thus
secured a fairly good shelter and were sure of sleeping dry unless the
wind changed and blew into the open front instead of against the thatch
at the back.
It was nearly dark when the work was finished, but it had not yet begun
to rain. While Hubert now gathered wood for their camp-fire, Ted took
his gun and stole off into the woods, hoping to shoot something for
supper. He had not gone very far when a fluttering and dimly outlined
forms on a high limb of a tall bay tree indicated a "turkey roost."
Taking careful aim, he fired, and then, amid the noisy flap of wings as
the wild fowl scattered, he thought he heard a soft thud on the ground
beneath the "roost." Running to the foot of the bay tree, he was
delighted to find that he had bagged a plump turkey-hen.
Some Spanish moss having been gathered and spread on the ground in the
acute angle of the lean-to, and portions of the turkey having been
broiled with fair success on glowing coals raked out of the fire, the
boys satisfied their hunger and lay down with a feeling of comfort which
hardly seemed in keeping with their continuing misfortunes, and which
was not lessened by the harmless patter of the rain-drops on the thatch
over their heads.
"I hope a bear won't come along and knock our shelter down," remarked
Hubert a few minutes after they lay down.
There was no real apprehension in his tone, the first nervousness
inseparable from sleeping in the remote woods of the Okefinokee having
by this time disappeared even in his case. Ted stretched his limbs,
yawned, and made no reply; but a few minutes later he said:
"You remember Uncle Walter saying the night before he left for
Washington that the experts thought the war would last about three
years? If it does, we'll be about old enough to go in--if we volunteer,
and I will."
"I wouldn't mind an old-fashioned war, with fighting in the open in the
old way," said Hubert, after a moment's thought. "But that hard and
dirty trench fighting, the terrible big new cannon, the poison gas, and
all the devilish doings of the Germans--it sort of gets on my nerves."
"We'd get used to it," said Ted. "And to go in is the only thing to do.
You remember the Greek mythology tale about how the new race of gods
knocked out and gave the hideous and terrible Cyclops their finish,
fastening them down under great rocks? The Germans and their deviltry
make me think of the Cyclops, and they've got to be put down in
something of the same sort of way, or the world won't be safe for
anybody. It's like going out after mad dogs. It's dangerous, and you
don't like it, but you've got to do it."
Hubert's thoughtful silence admitted the correctness of Ted's view.
After some minutes without speech the younger boy asked:
"Ted, what are you thinking about?"
"I was thinking that even if the slackers did catch us and take us back
to Deserters' Island, maybe it would be for the best, after all," said
Ted. "You see, I might make a friend of Mr. Jenkins--there's something
nice about him--and maybe I might get him interested in the war and
persuade him to go out----"
"Well, you are _the limit_!" exclaimed Hubert, in disgust.
Then he turned over, refusing to talk any more, and soon fell asleep.