Part 3

Hubert was loath to leave the dry open pine woods of the island and said so, but Ted convinced him that there was nothing to be done but to push on.

The boat-road had evidently been a good deal traveled and it was not very difficult to make headway, although the two paddles they had picked up were little more than two long sticks. As Ted had surmised, the boat-road led after a few hundred yards into a long and very narrow forest-bordered lake, where feeding fishes of considerable size were "striking" here and there in a way to tempt the most indifferent angler. Hubert wanted to stop to fish, but Ted said that if they were to get through by night they couldn't spare the time.

They did stop and drift, however, when they caught sight of a large animal swimming across their path about two hundred yards ahead. The boys grabbed their guns, but knew better than to waste bird shot on such big game. They merely watched the swimming creature in some alarm until it disappeared in the flooded forest. Hubert was sure it was a panther, but Ted said it might be only a lynx, perhaps even only the lesser lynx, commonly called the wild-cat. In any case, he thought, it was better to "let it go" and not "try to stir up a fight," armed as they were with mere bird-guns.

While they discussed the matter, drifting, Hubert unwound a fishing line he took out of his pocket. It was provided with a fly which had seen service in North Carolina trout streams, and he threw it as far out as he could. To his astonishment it was taken almost immediately and he found himself pulling a large and game fish toward the boat. When finally lifted over the boat's side, it proved to be a black bass weighing about five pounds. Both boys were now eager for more such sport, but Ted resisted the temptation and dipped his paddle vigorously.

"We've got to get somewhere before night," he said, looking at the declining sun. "Maybe we can come back here some time and try 'em again."

At the farther end of the lake the boat-road began again and wound on its way as before through seemingly endless flood and forest. At many points they found it more difficult to force the boat forward, but the scenery was the same. Now a long winding reach of black or wine-colored lagoon bordered by trees standing knee-deep in the flood and flying a thousand ragged flags of gray moss; now a tortuous trail among the crowding trunks of both standing and fallen trees, among masses of reeds full of the drift of fallen branches, beneath low-hanging boughs dipping their finger-like leafage into the water, and tangles of vines trailing down to the very surface of dark still pools. Then more and more of the thin-leafed cypresses towering on high with some of their banyan-like "knees" rising from the wine-colored flood a dozen feet from the parent stem, and others lying in wait a few inches below the surface, less perilous to the swamp boat than a sunken reef to the ocean ship, yet the most stubborn of all snags and the source of much labor and delay.

By the time the boys had laboriously got clear of the third "knee" upon which their boat had stalled, and had paddled, polled and pushed altogether three or four miles, the sun was down and they found it necessary to prepare for the night.

"I _said_ we ought to stay on that island," complained Hubert, as he looked around into the darkening aisles of the flooded forest.

"Well, I didn't want to be a prisoner there if you did," retorted Ted.

They bailed out what water had leaked into the bateau, broke brush and gathered moss for their bed, then ate an insufficient portion of broiled turkey which they had the forethought to bring with them. They felt safer in their boat, adrift in a tree-bordered lagoon, even if dark, mysterious foliage did overhang them. Perhaps this was why Hubert, after they had lain down and covered themselves with moss, permitted himself to refer sarcastically to Ted's prediction of the night before.

"I thought you were to be out of the swamp or get to the slackers' camp by to-night," he observed, with a yawn.

"Oh, give me another day, can't you!" retorted Ted, and, turning over, he fell asleep.

They were still asleep when the dawn came down and, in slow, wondrous miracle, transformed the thick darkness of the swamp into light. The wood-thrush lifted its sweet voice in welcome of the new day, and a lovely calm seemed to rest upon the great Okefinokee.

But the heavenly peace of morning was not everywhere, for directly above the sleeping boys, close upon a limb of the tree under which their drifting boat had come to rest, crouched a beast which looked down upon them with a fixed, dilating stare of hate. The animal was of a grayish brown that went pale along its belly. Its body looked long yet was short in proportion to the length of its powerful legs. It had a round head and face, pointed ears, yellow-green eyes and whitish-brown whiskers. Its tail was a mere thick brown stump that stood up stiffly when it moved an inch or two as if to get a better look, sinking its razor-edged claws deep into the green bark.

The watching lynx longed fiercely to drop upon Ted's neck, so soft and red and helpless, but was held motionless by its fear of the most terrible of all its enemies--mysterious, wonderful man. Nevertheless, seeing needed food, the beast obeyed an impulse stronger than fear and leaped, alighting, not upon Ted, but upon the black bass at the foot of the couch of broken boughs.

The boat rocked. The boys started up, blinking. The lynx growled fiercely, its teeth fastened in its prey. And then, after another and mightier leap, which rocked the boat still more, it became a mere shadow in the brush on their right, and was gone.

Shouting, questioning, gesticulating, and almost losing their balance, the boys sat down quickly in fear of upsetting the bateau.

"What is it?" cried Hubert. "It got my fish!"

"A wild-cat maybe," said Ted, "but it seemed bigger than I thought they were and I didn't know they had a stumpy tail."

"It had fierce whiskers just like the Kaiser's," asserted Hubert. "Look here, Ted," he added solemnly, "we've got to get out of this place or something will eat us up."

Then Ted began to laugh. And as there was nothing else to be done, there being no food, they picked up their paddles and started, breakfastless, on their way.

Several hours later they emerged from the flooded forest and saw before them an extensive open marsh filled with long rushes, "bonnets," and open pools, and dotted with small islands, the trees of which were hung with long gray drifts of Spanish moss. As far as the eye could reach, straight ahead, to the right or to the left, nothing else was visible. With increasing weariness and hunger the boys paddled and poled about this marsh until late in the day, imagining that they were pursuing the same general course, but in reality wandering widely in the confusion of rounding the many islets. At last, in the late afternoon, they saw far ahead the green tops of some tall pines and gradually worked their way toward them, surmising that they stood either upon a large island or the mainland. As they approached within half a mile, a shallow marsh, free of the confusing islets, opened before them. In the shallower water here the rushes and water-mosses seemed to thicken steadily as they neared the shore, and it became more and more difficult to force the bateau through or over them, although the boys now followed the windings of a clearly-defined boat-trail.

Finally, within some three hundred yards of the shore or the wall of woods indicating an island, they were compelled to step out and drag the boat after them, sinking now to the knee, now to the waist, in slimy moss, mud and water. Entering the border of trees, they pushed forward, still in water knee-deep, for about a hundred yards, before they reached a landing-place where two boats, somewhat larger than their own, were moored.

"There's somebody here, _sure_," said Ted, looking about hopefully.

A well-beaten path led upward through the dense "hammock" between the swamp proper and the pine ridge composing the island upon which the boys had landed. Under magnolia and bay trees and through tall underbrush of swamp-cane the path led to the top of the slope, where, some two hundred yards from the boats, the boys found themselves in a small clearing, beyond which the open pine land of the island stretched away monotonously.

Near the center of the clearing stood a house, built of rough pine logs, elevated some twelve feet from the ground on stilt-like posts; and over a fire to the right of this structure bent a man's figure. Evidently he was cooking his evening meal, for the boys caught the delicious odor of frying meat.

"Maybe he'll give us something to eat," said Hubert wistfully.

Just then the man stood erect, and they saw that he was a negro in rough soiled clothes. A moment later he turned his face toward them and they recognized a care-free, good-natured type of young black man with which they had had abundant acquaintance.

The boys hesitated no longer. The negro heard their steps and looked up, the first bewildered expression on his black, sweat-shining face changing to one of pleased astonishment. He came forward to meet them.

"W-huh you boys come fum?" he cried. Then, his eyes fastening upon Ted's muddy uniform, he continued, giggling delightedly: "And one of 'em is a little soldier! Well, if dat don't beat all! _Who_ you boys?"

Ted staggered slightly and sat down heavily on the grass.

"Please give us something to eat and then we'll tell you," he said in a weak voice.

The negro showed instant sympathy. "Is you boys perishin' for sump'n to eat?" he asked, regretfully. "Lem me git you sump'n quick!"

He rushed about and within less than two minutes had piled hot meat, fish and bread on palmetto leaves placed before the boys where they sat on the billowy wiregrass.

"You boys sho kin eat," he commented, grinning, as he watched them devour the good food. "I des know you was most starvin'. You kin eat all dat and have plenty mo'."

After Ted had satisfied his hunger, felt strengthened, and had thanked the negro gratefully and very politely, he asked:

"What camp is this?"

"Eight young white mens been campin' yuh since las' summer and dey brung me in to cook dey vittles. I'm July Martin."

"Oh--this is where those slackers are hiding to keep out of the war?" said Ted, stating a recognized fact in the form of a question.

"Dis is it, but don't tell 'em I tole you. Dey's mighty partic'lar to keep people fum knowin' where dey is."

"How about you?" asked Ted. "Negro men are being drafted for war service, too."

"Who, me?" laughed July, slightly uneasy. "Well, you see, when Mr. Buck Hardy come an' tole me he want me in yuh to cook for 'em, he say if I didn't do it dem draft-bode people would grab me up an' send me to de waw, and I was powerful worried. You see, de waw come so sudden; it bus' right in my face, like; an' it look like I des _had_ to take time to git in de notion to stan' up an' let dem Germans shoot at me. So I tuck dis chance to make a honest livin' in a quiet place. I's makin' a livin'. Dey takes up a c'lection and pays me wages for cookin' and doin' dey dirty work. And, 'sides all dat; Mr. Buck Hardy say I des got to come in yuh wid 'em an' he wouldn' lem me say no."

Both boys smiled broadly, but at the conclusion of this prodigiously amusing speech Ted asked:

"Don't you call yourself a free man? Don't you think it's bad enough to be a slacker without putting the blame on somebody else?"

In ordinary times July would have boasted of his freedom to come and go as he pleased, but now he desired to persist in the persuasion that he was not a free agent.

"But Mr. Buck Hardy tole me," he argued, giggling uneasily,--"he tole me if I did n' come in yuh he and dem yuther young white mens would give me de devil, an' he tole me if dem draft-bode people got me and sont me to de waw dem Germans would cut my head off."

"Oh, confess that you are an out-and-out slacker and be done with it," said Ted. "That's the only honest thing to do, you know."

"Look yuh, boy," said July, his good-humored face showing irritation, "you better put a bridle on dat tongue o' yours. I like to see a smart boy like you wid plenty o' spunk, and I ain't mad wid you, but lem me give you a piece o' advice: if you go talkin' dat-a way to Mr. Buck Hardy and dem young white mens, you gwine to git into trouble. You sho will."

"Who is Mr. Buck Hardy?" asked Hubert, diplomatically, prudently deciding that it was time to check Ted by changing the subject.

"He's de ring-leader. He's de cock o' de walk in dis camp."

"What is the name of this island?" asked Ted, looking around.

"I hear 'em say, but I disremember," answered July with seeming sincerity.

"A mighty good name for it would be Deserters' Island,'" remarked Ted, rising to join Hubert, who now stood by the fire drying his wet trousers.

VI

As the boys stood steaming by the fire, Ted using his wet handkerchief to clean the mud and slime from his trousers, more questions were asked, and in response to inquiry as to the present whereabouts of the hiding slackers, the negro said:

"Dey ain't come in yet. Some of 'em runnin' a deer and some gone to dey traps." July pointed to the skins hanging from grape-vines and bear-grass ropes under the elevated house of logs and beneath a low shelter of thatched palmetto fans. "Dey in de trappin' business," he added.

At this moment some one was heard coming through the brush, singing in a peculiar childish voice: "Open the gates as high as the sky and let King George's army pass by."

"Dat's Billy," said July. "He ain't got good sense."

A barefoot young white man, roughly clothed, entered the clearing at a trot and ran up to the two boys. Fixing his eye on Ted, he inquired with a giggle, "What's your name?" When Ted had told him, he turned to Hubert with the same question. His hair was light in color and soft as a child's, but his face was wrinkled and wore a meaningless smile. His pale eyes were vacant yet restless.

"He's Sweet Jackson's nigger same as I'm Mr. Buck Hardy's," explained July, showing his white, even teeth. "I found him in yuh waitin' on Sweet when I come. But Mr. Hardy don't cuff me round de way Sweet do Billy. _He_ don't think nothin' o' takin' a stick to dat half-witted boy when he git mad. It's scan'lous."

It appeared from July's remarks to Ted, while Billy still questioned Hubert, that "Sweet"--a curious illustration of the adhesiveness of Cracker nursery nicknames--was second only to Buck in importance and influence among the slackers. Yet Sweet was not liked, being often sullen and ill-tempered, while Buck, the "cock of the walk," a great stalwart fellow with a waste of muscle and a kindly disposition, was generally popular.

The tramp of approaching feet was now heard and July turned hurriedly to the fire, where he had been frying cornbread. A heavy young man advanced out of the darkened woods, a rifle over his arm, followed by two other young men carrying a deer suspended from a stick which ran across their shoulders. Three dogs trotted into the fire-lit circle ahead of the hunting party. The two burdened men threw the deer down on a carpet of palmetto fans and at once began to skin it, merely glancing once or twice at the strange boys. The leading hunter, who, according to July's whisper, was Sweet Jackson, betrayed curiosity.

"Who-all's this?" he inquired gruffly, approaching the fire. "Billy, git me some water quick. Whur did you boys come from?"

Ted briefly explained, but Sweet Jackson did not appear to be quite satisfied, a gleam of suspicion showing in his eyes as they remained fixed upon Ted's uniform.

"What's them clothes you got on?" he asked, and when the boy had explained he was mysteriously informed in a voice suggestive of menace: "If they sent you in the Oke-fi-noke to find our camp and go back and tell 'em, they played thunder."

Another party of hunters now came out of the dark woods, exhibiting an otter skin as their single but valuable prize. Among these was Buck Hardy, who stood in the background only long enough to hear the outline of the boys' story and then approached them, his manner quite friendly.

"How you come on, boys?" he asked, extending his hand to Ted. "This one"--as he turned, smiling, to Hubert--"is as rosy as a little gal."

Hubert was highly indignant at this, but both he and Ted felt intuitively that the "cock of the walk" would prove their best friend in the camp. As he questioned them and appeared to be satisfied with their straightforward answers, they observed him narrowly. He was fully six feet tall and evidently an uncommonly muscular and powerful man. But what attracted the boys was his atmosphere of quiet resolution and the kindly expression of his eyes. They wondered that such a man, who looked brave if he was not, should be a hiding slacker.

Meanwhile July had been busy frying thin strips of fresh venison steak, and now announced that supper was ready. The slackers thereupon took their places round the fire, and the boys had abundant opportunity to study the faces of all--an inspection that, except in one or two instances, found little that was reassuring. Ted and Hubert were politely invited by Buck to join in the feast, but, having already eaten their fill, accepted only a cup of coffee.

The hapless Billy, who had taken the liberty of appeasing his hunger before supper was ready, now lay on the grass, reciting in a sort of sing-song: "Mena, mino, mo; ketch a nigger by the toe, if he hollers let him go." This was followed by: "Quemo, quimo, dilmo, day; rick, stick, pomididdle, dido--Sally broke the paddle over Mingo's head." The childish mind of the young man seemed to delight in nursery rhymes. He was beginning, "One-two, buckle my shoe--three-four, open the door," etc., when Sweet Jackson called his name roughly and sent him on an errand.

"What's the news about the war?" asked Buck Hardy of Ted, as the slackers lighted their pipes and settled into comfortable lounging positions about the fire.

Ted responded eagerly, describing the situation as he understood it and showing that the outlook was not as promising as it had been. He indicated that Russia had dropped out and was "no good any more," that Italy was hard pressed, that France was wearing out, and that England's safety was threatened by Germany's submarines.

"It depends on the United States," the boy declared. "We've got to end this war. We've got to be in a big hurry to put two million soldiers in the field, and every able-bodied young man is needed." Then, his zeal overcoming his prudence, he excitedly added: "I don't see how you men can stay here in this swamp at such a time. I--I--I'd be _ashamed_!"

Buck Hardy winced. Sweet Jackson sat erect with a threatening look. The other slackers shifted their positions uneasily and frowned, some of them uttering low ejaculations of astonishment. July paused in his noisy scraping of a pot and stood at attention. Hubert nudged Ted warningly and urged him in a whisper to hold his tongue.

"Who's ashamed!" cried Sweet Jackson derisively. "I ain't, for one. 'Tain't none of my quiltin'. What them Germans ever done to _me_? I never heard tell of 'em till lately."

"You'll hear of 'em a plenty if they ever get this country," said Ted, shaking off Hubert's hand. The boy was too excited and eager to speak his mind to count the costs. "They'll rob you of every dollar, and if you don't walk the line they chalk you'll be shot in your tracks. They haven't had a chance yet to do anything to _you_. The thing to think about is what they've done to other countries and what they intend to do to ours if they can. Do you want them to give Texas and a half dozen more States out that way to Mexico, as the Kaiser promised to do, if Mexico would help him conquer this country?"

"Texas is a fur ways, and big enough to take care of itself, too," said Sweet, serenely indifferent.

"That's a fine way to look at it!" Ted was quick to retort, scorn in his tone. "Will your right hand feel that way if somebody walks up and whacks off your left?"

"They could never do it," spoke up Buck Hardy quietly. "The Germans nor nobody else could ever take this country."

"That depends on what sort of a fight we put up and how quick we are about it," insisted Ted. "I read the papers a lot, and listen to men talk, too, and sometimes it looks as if even England may have to give in. If the Germans get England and the British fleet, what will happen then? Why, they'll get Canada, of course, and get ready to invade us anywhere across a three-thousand mile border line. _Then_ we'll have it!"

"Canada and New York and Ohio and Chicago is a fur ways," remarked Sweet, yawning. "If the Germans do get 'em, what's that to us 'way down h-yuh?"

"What's that to _us_ if the richest part of our country falls into the hands of the enemy!" cried Ted, losing his patience and with it all sense of prudence. "You make me sick. As I was about to say just now, it all depends on how many of us go out and fight and how many of us go and hide in a swamp."

Again Buck Hardy winced, and all the lounging slackers sat up, startled, staring at Ted as if scarcely able to believe that they had heard aright. As a general murmuring began, Sweet Jackson leaped to his feet.

"Billy, go get me a big switch," he ordered. "I've got to give that sassy boy a good frailin'. He's too big for his breeches. I aim to teach him a lesson right now."

"No, you won't," said Buck Hardy, who had also risen to his feet. "I like that boy. I like his spunk. And anybody who lays a hand on him has got me to whip. I put you all on notice," he concluded, turning from the furious but perceptibly checked Jackson and sweeping an eye over the seated slackers.

"Well, Buck Hardy," argued Sweet in a vain attempt to disguise his surrender, "if you're goin' to play the fool in this thing you'll be sorry."

"Aw, set down and let the boy talk," said Buck, resuming his own seat on the grass. "You don't have to agree with him. Let him talk; it's interestin'. Go on, kid."

But Ted seemed to think that he had said enough for the present, and for once he was not ready to speak. Buck Hardy himself broke the silence that followed.

"There's another thing I want to say," he announced. "I ain't in this swamp because I'm a-scared to fight. If they'd a let me alone, it would a' been all right, but when they up and passed a force-law, draftin' everybody whether or no, I got mad."

Then Ted found his voice, opening his mouth to speak impetuously, but Hubert grabbed him by the arm to check him and this time the younger boy would not be denied.

"Hush!--don't!" Hubert whispered urgently. "Don't tell him he was free to enlist and try to put him in a hole. He's our _friend_."

Ted saw the force of this in time and shut off his coming flood words, saying only:

"I didn't think you were afraid, Mr. Hardy. And it is very good of you to be willing for me to speak out, and I thank you very much."

Then the "cock of the walk" himself seemed to think that it would be better to change the subject, for he began to speak about an interesting incident of the day's hunting. But the conversation soon dragged, the slackers yawning drowsily. One by one they rose and disappeared, until only Buck, Sweet and the two boys were left by the fire. Finally Sweet rose, saying:

"What you aim to do with them boys to-night, Buck? We got to keep our eye on them boys."

"They'll sleep with me," was the answer.