Part 10

"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!"

XVII

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.

XVIII

In the early morning they were awakened by the rain falling on their faces, and found their once dry and cosy retreat now thoroughly wet and uncomfortable. Not only did water percolate through the hastily constructed palmetto thatch, but, the wind having changed, the rain now beat in from the front. A slow, steady downfall evidently had continued throughout the night.

"It's a set-in rain, and we're goin' to have a hard time," Hubert complained.

It was only with great difficulty and after long effort that they succeeded in building a fire, and by the time the remainder of the turkey, which had been hung out of reach of marauding animals the night before, had been broiled and eaten, it was late in the morning.

What to do next was the puzzling question. Even the night before Ted had been troubled to answer. To turn back might invite an encounter with a pursuing party of slackers, yet the marsh barred further progress, unless the boys were willing to take the risks involved in wading through mud, slime, mosses, rushes, "bonnets," and what not, the water being no doubt over their heads in many places.

"Let's try it," Ted proposed at last. "We are wet to the skin anyhow, and if we can't do it, we can come back here. If we can get across, I don't think it will take us long to find our way out of the swamp."

Hubert shrank from but agreed to the undertaking, preferring almost anything whatsoever to turning back with the prospect of falling into the hands of a pursuing party of slackers. Both boys were good swimmers, but Ted thought it unwise to venture on a flooded marsh of unknown depth without some safeguard. As they had no boat and probably would be unable to float a raft, even if one could be constructed, he decided to take with them a section of a tree to which they might cling, in case they should advance beyond their depth and be unable to swim on account of the mosses and sedge crowding the marsh water at so many points.

After considerable search Ted found a dead cypress which had broken into parts in its fall before a wind storm. A section of this about twelve feet long and about a foot in diameter, was chosen. Having provided themselves with light slender poles some ten feet long, and tied the gun and hatchet between two short up-reaching branches of the log, the boys succeeded in launching what Ted termed their "life-preserver."

While they were accomplishing this task Hubert made his first acquaintance with a curiosity of the Okefinokee, more noticeable in times past than now along the shores of islands within or bordering the marshes. Stepping off from the island shore, Hubert walked forward upon a seeming continuation of land--a mass of floating vegetable forms, intermingled with moss, drift and slime, forming a compact floor capable of sustaining his weight, which, although it did not at once break through beneath him, could be seen to sink and rise at every step for several feet around.

"Why this ground moves!" cried Hubert, astonished.

"You'd better look out," said Ted. "It won't hold you up much longer. It's not ground; it's floating moss and stuff----"

He paused, smiling, as Hubert broke through and stood in mud and water above his knees.

"I heard one of the slackers speak of that moving stuff as 'floating batteries,'" Ted added. "Uncle Walter said the Indians, in old times, called it 'Okefinokee' or 'trembling earth,' and that was how the swamp got its name."

Once they had dragged their "life preserver" over the "trembling earth," the boys made better progress, although they still had to contend with a submerged slimy moss of a green color and a great variety of crowding rushes. As they staggered along, dragging the log, now only up to their knees in water, now sinking in the yielding ooze until the water rose above their waists, they were for a time much annoyed by a little black fly or bug haunting the sedge which stung like a mosquito.

The clouds still dropped a slow drizzle, and a mist lay upon the great marsh, in which the many little islands, clothed in dun-colored vegetation, loomed up in dim, uncertain outlines. Ted remarked that he had heard the slackers call these islets "houses," but that to him they now rather suggested huge phantom ships. Many cranes, herons and "poor-jobs" had already risen at their approach; and as they advanced farther out on the marsh, where the water deepened, the sedge began to thin and to be succeeded by "bonnets" or water lilies, large flocks of ducks flew up, and occasionally a curlew skimmed across their course.