Ted went to bed a very happy boy, seeing nothing but the wonderful
achievement of his fond dream. Hubert alone noted that the three men put
their guns within reach of their hands when they lay down, and he alone
heard Al Peters whisper:
"What if them fellows want to make trouble?"
The boy was glad to hear Buck answer: "Oh, shucks, there ain't spunk
enough in _that_ bunch."
Some two hours later Buck saw reason to modify this contemptuous
opinion, for July brought startling news. Climbing up into the
sleeping-loft very quietly, the negro bent down over Peters, Jones and
Hardy in turn, shaking each until assured that each was fully awake.
Each grumbled sleepily, protesting and questioning. Not until all three
stood up and peered at him in the dim light did July fully explain.
"Sorry to 'sturb you gen'l'mens," he apologized, "but it ain't safe to
stay sleep in dis place to-night. I's scared dem mens out dere is
fixin' to burn it down on you."
"What in the dickens made you wake us up to tell such a fool tale as
that?" demanded Buck skeptically.
"I tellin' you de trufe," insisted July in an injured tone. "I was
lookin' an' listenin' when Mr. James shook his fist at dis place an'
says: 'Less burn 'em up--dat's de quick an' sure way.' Dem's his very
words. I slipped up on 'em an' watched an' listened."
Peters and Jones looked at each other and then at Buck.
"Zack James is a fool anyhow and now that he's mad, his brains is plumb
addled," said Buck in a disgusted tone. "Nothin' but talk. Jenkins
wouldn't stand for it."
"Well, you better believe dem mens is gittin' ready to fight," insisted
July. "Dey's tuck all de provisions an' put 'em wid dey guns behind a
bunch o' permeters close by de big pine--you know de big pine--and dey
got another fire built down dere. And dey's tuck all de boats an' hid
'em. I sneaked round an' watched 'em while dey was doin' it all."
This was serious. Buck made no further protest when Peters said:
"Boys, we'd better look out for ourselves."
"Dey's 'spectin' a fight," said July. "When I fust crawled up to listen
Mr. Thatcher was a-sayin': 'If we got to be shot, we mought as well be
shot right yuh in de swamp widout waitin' for de Gov'ment to do it.'"
"And what did Jenkins say?" asked Buck.
"I couldn't make out, but I think fum de signs dat he argued an' argued
an' den give in to Mr. James an' them."
"Anyhow he won't let that fool James burn this place down on us."
"We'd better move out, though, and do it quick," said Jones. "Zack James
may be drunk. I smelt whisky on him to-day."
"We've got four guns," remarked Peters.
An immediate move being agreed on, the boys were wakened. The guns and
blankets were divided between the three white men, who also secured a
few personal belongings which they kept in the sleeping-loft. The negro
was told to give the boys any tins of salmon or sardines that he could
find and to shoulder as large a load of raked up moss as he could
carry, after dropping it through the opening in the floor.
But before this was done, or any one had descended the ladder, Buck lay
flat on the floor, thrust his head and shoulders through the opening and
looked about. As he did so, he saw a man hurrying away--after listening
beneath the loft, as it appeared. Buck then went half way down the
ladder, gun in hand, and looked about more fully, noting that the old
camp fire had burnt out and that a new one burned steadily some two
hundred yards away at the point July had indicated, the upright figures
of two men being visible within the circle of light.
"Come on, boys," he said softly, after a few moments.
Within fifteen minutes the move had been made in silence and without
disturbance, even the moss being transferred to the chosen,
grass-covered spot which was shut in on three sides by thick clumps of
palmettos. Here they were amply screened both on the side looking toward
the sleeping-loft, which was about a hundred yards away, and on the
front looking toward the slackers' new camp fire, which was some two
hundred yards distant. No upright figures were now seen within the
circle of light, the alert slackers evidently having taken alarm and
sought shelter behind their own "bunch o' permeters."
There was no moon, but myriads of stars rained soft light through the
clear atmosphere, and, as the three white men took turns watching on the
exposed side of their fireless camp, they were able to see every object
distinctly for a considerable distance out among the scattered pines.
July shaped the pile of dry moss into a comfortable bed and Ted and
Hubert lay down under blankets, as Buck insisted that they should do;
but there was little sleep for anybody during the rest of that night.
None of the white men lay down even while off sentinel duty. The three
mostly sat in a group, watching, or listening, or softly discussing
plans for the coming day.
At last morning slowly dawned, nothing of importance having occurred
meanwhile. As soon as the growing light brought out distinctly the
outlines of every familiar object on the island within reach of the eye,
Buck stepped out into the open, gun in hand, faced the slackers' leafy
fort, and called:
"Jenkins! Jenkins!"
In a few moments Jenkins, also carrying a gun, stepped into view.
"Well, Jenkins," shouted Buck, a sneer in his tone as well as in his
words, "that nice little Sunday-school game of burnin' the roof over our
heads didn't come off, after all. I reckon we was too quick for you."
"Now, Buck Hardy," cried Jenkins, "you ought to know I wouldn't stand
for nothin' o' that sort."
"You're in with a bad crowd, Jenkins. Well, what do them yellow dogs in
the bushes behind you aim to do?"
"_I'd_ ruther see nothin' done. The whole thing is crazy. I say, let you
fellows go out without any trouble. That's the only thing to do, _I_
say."
"But your yellow dogs don't agree, one of 'em 'specially--the one that
wanted to burn us out. I know who he is, and I've a good mind to walk
right over there and break every bone in his body."
There was a sudden rustling of the palmettos behind Jenkins that seemed
to indicate preparation for war. Noting this, Peters and Jones leveled
their guns through their own palmettos without exposing the muzzles to
the view of the watchers in the opposite leafy fort. The two boys and
the negro looked and listened with all their eyes and ears, their
excitement now intense. But Buck Hardy stood in a careless pose, gun in
hand, as before.
"Jenkins," he said, "if you've got any influence with Carter and
Thatcher, talk to 'em. Then stack all your guns against that big pine.
Then _we'll_ stack our guns where you can see 'em. Then I'll walk over
there empty-handed and wipe up the ground with Zack James. Let that
settle it. _I'll_ be satisfied."
Jenkins had no time to speak, even if ready with a reply. The last word
was hardly uttered when there came a flash from the green behind him, a
loud report followed, and a bullet whistled by Buck Hardy's head.
Instantly Peters and Jones fired their guns. Then Jenkins leaped out of
sight, and Buck, after firing where he stood, sought cover beside his
friends.
The slackers promptly fired a volley from their green covert in
response, the bullets rattling through the palmettos and passing over
the heads of the two seated boys.
"Lie down flat!" Buck commanded them.
"Here, nigger, take this extra gun and shoot," cried Peters, shoving it
toward July with his left hand as he raised his own gun with his right.
July took the gun with a frightened air and a sickly smile, but prepared
to obey.
Hubert flattened himself out on the grass and lay still, as ordered; but
Ted, unable to endure such inaction, with its attendant inability to see
what was going on, crawled quietly and unnoticed into the palmettos to
the left of the men until he reached a point where, by resting on his
elbows and cautiously parting the leafage in front of him, he could scan
the open and see the green covert sheltering the enemy as it trembled
under the shock of each volley fired into it.
"Aim low," he presently heard Buck say. "The only way to end it is to
hit some of 'em."
"I wish we had an American flag to run up," thought Ted, as the next
volley was fired.
A moment later he forgot this aspiration, as a cry of pain was heard
from the slackers' covert.
"Somebody's hit!" cried Peters gaily.
Buck chuckled. Jones laughed aloud. Intense excitement reigned, mingled
with a fierce exultation which Ted, as he realized afterward, fully
shared.
The three white men and the negro fired again, and were raising their
guns once more when Buck suddenly called a halt.
"Hold on," he said. "Looks like they've quit. And if they have, we'll
quit, too."
All listened intently and looked cautiously forth. There were now no
answering shots. It was evident that the slackers had either "quit" or,
as Peters suggested, were "hatching some mischief."
While keeping a wary eye on the open woods behind them, the watchful
listeners waited for some sign from the silenced "fort," and presently
it came. A white handkerchief rose on the end of a stick and fluttered
above the clump of palmettos.
"Hello, there!" shouted Buck. "Is that you, Jenkins? It's got to be
Jenkins, or we won't trust you."
"It's me," they heard the voice of Jenkins, rather fainter than it had
been during the previous parley. "It's all over, Hardy. You've got us.
James and Thatcher have run--they're in the boats and gone by this time.
Nobody here but me and Carter."
"Step out, then, and stack your guns."
"We're both hit, but I reckon we can do that much."
Jenkins came out of cover, limping, and stood his gun against the tree.
Behind him came Carter, dragging his gun with one hand, his other arm
hanging limp at his side.
"I reckon it's all right," said Buck. "But, July, you stay here and keep
them boys till we make sure."
Then the three white men, holding their guns in readiness, walked across
the open to investigate. Left alone with the boys, July suddenly began
to laugh with all the abandon of the happiest of darkies.
"Dat sho was a grand fight," he assured the boys. "An' what you reckon,
Cap'n Ted? Atter I shot once I wasn't scared. I des 'joyed myself
shootin' at dem slackers an' list'nin' to de bullets rattlin' round us
in dese permeters. I wouldn't 'a' believed it. I sho is a 'stonished
nigger dis mawnin'."
July laughed ecstatically, and before the amused and pleased boys had
spoken he continued:
"Look yuh, Cap'n Ted, maybe I won't haf to have des a cook's job in de
army. Maybe I'd 'joy myself mo' still shootin' at dem Germans out o' one
o' dem holes in de ground. If dey want to try me, I's willin'--I don'
care how soon de Gov'ment put a rifle in my hands an' sick me on dem
Germans!"
Then the grinning negro gave vent to his feelings in a prodigious and
joyful yell--a sort of war whoop in advance.
"July, this is simply _great_!" cried Ted, full of enthusiasm as he
beheld a soldier born for Uncle Sam in the most unexpected quarter. "And
I'm not so very much surprised either; for I have heard old army men say
that a great many good soldiers are afraid at first."
Then they heard Buck's shout that everything was "all right," and the
two boys and the negro raced eagerly across the intervening space.
"July," ordered Buck, "bring a bucket of water and any old cloth you can
find. And be quick."
Carter was seated with his back against a tree, his face very pale and
his bared arm showing a deep flesh wound out of which came an alarming
flow of blood. Jenkins, seated near, had uncovered a bleeding but much
less serious flesh wound in the calf of his left leg.
"Zack James was at the bottom of the whole fool business," Jenkins was
saying. "He was drinkin' all night. You can see his empty bottle behind
them permeters."
"Lucky for him that he beat it before I got my hands on him," said Buck.
While Peters and Jones were checking the red flow from Carter's wound
and very carefully binding it up, Ted noticed with alarm that blood
trickled down Buck's left wrist. He had received instruction in first
aid as a part of his Boy Scout training and now insisted on dressing his
friend's wound, although Buck protested that the bullet had "just
grazed" his arm and no attention was necessary. Ted cleared the drying
blood from around the scratch and, tearing into strips his handkerchief
which he had washed and dried the previous afternoon, neatly employed a
part of it as a bandage.
"Thank you, little doctor," said Buck, smiling and pleased.
Then Ted turned to Jenkins and very carefully performed the same office
for him, in this case there being some real need.
"You sure are a nice kid," said Jenkins gratefully. "I didn't think
you'd do it for me because I wasn't on your side in the fight."
"Do you take me for a _German_?" demanded Ted, vastly indignant. "The
Americans and the English and the French always attend to wounded
prisoners of war. Only the Germans leave the enemy wounded to die, or
kill them. They fire on the Red Cross and sink hospital ships, too. But
we are different."
"Lord, no; I'd never take you for a German," apologized Jenkins, with a
twitch of his lip and a twinkle in his eye.
Ted looked around, bright-eyed, upon the scene about him and the
swamp-island surroundings, sighing, not with sadness, but with relief
and satisfaction in the shaping and fortunate issue of events. Well
pleased, he noted that the sun had risen in a clear sky and that birds
were singing joyfully.
The boy vaguely sensed the wonderful and ever-compensating fact that
nature had received no shock and its marvelous mechanism remained
untouched; that the world was beautiful and its inarticulate creatures
were happy, in spite of man's strain and strife, his guns and his wars.
"Hurry up now, July, and get us some breakfast," the voice of Buck Hardy
was heard calling.