Part 7

So after breakfast next morning Ted and Hubert started off openly, their little guns over their shoulders and a camp dog, which they had petted and become fond of, following gladly at their heels. They first walked down to the lower end of the island and located the jungle trail a second time. Then they slowly hunted up the left hand side to a point nearly opposite and less than a mile and a half from the camp. During all this time they saw practically nothing to shoot, and at last Ted complained that luck had deserted him. Hubert, always the first to be discouraged, proposed that they give up the hunt and "cut across" the island toward camp.

Still tramping on, loath to surrender, Ted suddenly tripped and fell over a log, striking the side of his head against a sharp snag. He was at first slightly stunned and his wound, though but little more than a scratch, bled freely. What was more serious, he sprained his ankle as he fell and found it impossible to walk without unbearable pain. After trying repeatedly, he became quite faint and was forced to lie down.

"Hubert, you'd better go on to camp," he said breathlessly, "and, if I don't turn up by dinner time, tell 'em what's the matter. Mr. Hardy will know what to do--if this pain keeps me from walking all day."

Ted raised himself on his arm, pointing, anxious to make sure that Hubert took the right course, and then, as his alarmed cousin started off at a trot, he fell back exhausted, closing his eyes. All was now quiet except for the sighing of the breeze in the high pine tops and the panting of the dog squatting near him. As long as he did not move the pain in his ankle was eased, and, as the bleeding scratch on the side of his head troubled him but little, he grew drowsy and in no great while fell asleep.

Ted was awakened some time later more by a warning sense of danger than by certain slightly disturbing sounds. On opening his eyes, he found the dog standing close to him, the hair on its back erect and its tail between its legs--both signs of fear. The boy's faithful guardian, with low growling that was almost a whine, gazed steadily into the faintly rustling foliage of a water-oak some thirty feet away. The tree stood on the edge of the low, wet area, its boughs interlacing with the branches of other trees behind it, these connecting in turn with myriads of others and thus forming a leafy bridge for miles through the dense, mysterious, softly whispering swamp.

While he slept something had come stealthily over this bridge--something keen of scent, with eyes of hate and knife-edged claws, hungry for blood--and now a long lank animal of a tawny hue, its twitching tail uplifted and its small flat head lowered, lay along a limb of the water-oak watching with green, glaring, cruel eyes as he stirred.

At first Ted saw nothing to alarm him, but soon he caught sight of a tail like that of an enormous cat beating back and forth among the leaves in a manner startlingly suggestive of both restlessness and rage. He remembered to have heard one of the slackers say that the tail of a panther twitched in that nervous way when the beast was crouching for a spring. He remembered also the agreement of all the slackers engaged in the conversation that no killing of a panther in the Okefinokee had been reported for years.

"But that must be one," thought Ted, "and it smelt my blood and is after me."

Forgetting his sprained ankle, the boy clutched his gun and started up, but staggered and dropped to his knees in an agony of pain. On seeing his master stir, the dog showed more spirit, putting on a bolder front and barking wildly.

This seemed to put an end to the suspense. Almost at once the great cat, snarling fiercely, tore through the leafage surrounding her and descended toward her intended prey, striking the earth within a few feet of the dog.

Ted managed to raise his gun and take aim, but before he pulled the trigger the panther had leaped again and engaged the dog at close quarters. To shoot then was to endanger friend as well as foe, and the boy hesitated. Fearing that mere buck-shot would not serve anyhow and that the faithful dog was his only protection, Ted painfully crawled further away, looking back over his shoulder to watch the fierce struggle between the two beasts, with never a moment's let-up in such harsh growling and snarling as he had never heard in all his life.

The contending creatures, fast in each other's grip, rapidly drew nearer, tearing up grass and brush as they came. Apparently the panther's object was to shake off the dog and reach the boy, her real intended prey, and it looked as if she would succeed, for she was larger as well as much stronger than the battling friend of Ted who braved her cruel claws in his defense.

In great concern for the dog as well as for himself, the boy again started to his feet, but again the pain was more than he could bear. He tottered, fell, and this time a black, quivering sea seemed to engulf all his senses. When consciousness returned, which was almost at once, the horrid din bombarded his ears as before, and, as he opened his eyes, the panther accomplished a resistless rush in his direction, arriving within perhaps five feet of him together with the heroic dog, which still refused to be shaken off.

Ted thought his days were numbered, yet the very thought seemed to steady his nerves and clear his head. Rising to his knees, he lifted his gun and watched his chance. The fiercely struggling and snarling beasts came nearer still, now the panther and now the dog turning a back to the boy.

Suddenly, with a coolness that he afterward wondered at, Ted leaned forward and, seizing the opportunity as it came, put the very muzzle of his gun against the neck of his enemy and pulled the trigger.

As the report reverberated through the woods, the panther leaped high in the air, wresting herself away at last from the grip of the dog's strong teeth. It looked to Ted as if she would descend directly upon him, and, as he shrank away, giving himself up for lost, his senses failed him once more and oblivion followed.

When he revived and looked around the panther lay still on one side of him and the dog, cruelly wounded, struggled feebly with a low whining on the other. A large section of the mighty cat's neck had been literally torn out by the discharge of the gun at close quarters and there could be no question that life was extinct. Assured of this, and fearing that the dog could not survive, Ted put an arm around his faithful savior's neck and wept.

It was thus that the boy and the dog were found when, after the welcome sounds of the rescuing party's nearing halloo, Buck Hardy rushed upon the scene, followed by Al Peters, Bud Jones, Hubert and July.

"Are you all right, kid?" asked Buck, gathering Ted up tenderly.

"_I'm_ all right, but the dog--poor, faithful Spot! Can't you do something for him, Mr. Hardy?"

A brush stretcher was hastily constructed and Ted was placed upon it, but he refused to be borne to the camp by the four men until the wounded dog had been laid at his side.

"We'd better hunt around this island tomorrow," remarked Al Peters, as the four men labored across the island with their burden. "That boy bags more game right here than we do on our long trips."

It pleased Ted greatly to overhear this, but his satisfaction was not complete until, after a careful examination of the cruelly clawed dog at camp, he was assured that his devoted friend would recover. His own slight head wound and sprained ankle did not trouble him. After each had received the most expert attention the sympathetic and admiring camp of slackers was capable of, it was merely a matter of keeping still temporarily in order to save himself from pain.

"What's a little scratch on the head and a sprained ankle," he asked of the solicitous men about the camp fire that night, "compared with what our soldiers have to stand--liquid fire and poison gas bombs in the trenches and submarine torpedoes at sea?"

"I don't reckon anybody in this war has been up against anything worse than you was to-day," remarked Buck Hardy, glancing at the panther skin which had been brought in and hung up in the camp where the lame boy could see it.

"Oh, yes, they have," insisted Ted; "but they were not scared the way I was. Why, our soldiers on the _Tuscania_ stood and sang 'The Star-Spangled Banner' while the ship was sinking and they were waiting their turn to get off in the boats. Many of them went to their death like the greatest heroes."

Ted then told what he had read about the sinking of this transport some two weeks before he left his uncle's home in North Carolina to come down to the neighborhood of the Okefinokee. The slackers had not heard of it and all listened with great interest.

"Even women--lots of them--have been up against much worse in this war than I was to-day," the boy continued. "Think of Miss Edith Cavell, that lovely English nurse the Germans shot in Belgium."

As Ted eloquently told the story of the execution of this innocent and devoted woman, practically all the slackers gave expression to lively indignation.

"I wouldn't 'a believed a bunch o' devils would 'a done such a thing, and _to a lady_ at that!" one voice called out.

"What do the Huns care about a lady or anything in the world?" cried Ted. "They treat women as roughly as they treat men. They've carried off thousands of Belgian and French women and made them slaves. They've actually made women work in front of their lines under the fire of French guns. They've herded up women and children in Belgian and French towns and shot them down. They've carried off hundreds of thousands of men and women from conquered countries and made them slave night and day in Germany. The very songs they sing--I've seen translations of some of them--tell proudly of cruel, barbarous outrages and boast that neither women nor children are spared.

"Why, I've seen a list of the atrocities committed by the Germans in this war that would make your blood boil, that would make you sick," the boy continued. "And it's the truth--all taken from what they call 'verified official reports,' with as many as ten witnesses for everything. You see, the Germans believed they were going to conquer the world, and so many of them didn't care _what_ they did. They massacred prisoners in cold blood at Ypres and other places. They loot, burn and often kill as they go. They've nailed people up alive against doors. They've cut off hands and feet and left the poor creatures alive. They've filled the streets with dead--not only fighting soldiers but old men, women and children. They've burned people up in their houses. They've cut even women to pieces. The way they get all the money in a captured town is to threaten to kill everybody, and to prove that they are going to do it they kill a few hundred to begin with. They drive the helpless people like cattle--drive them out and leave them to starve. They seem to delight in burning or knocking down churches with their cannon. They've stuck bayonets in women and boys and girls and pitched them into the fire of burning houses. The cavalry has tied men and women to their stirrups and galloped around with them dragging. They throw the dead into springs and wells. I can't begin to tell you of their awful doings. They have even stuck their bayonets through little children and held them up as they walked through the streets."

After twisting nervously in his seat and breathing hard as he listened, Buck Hardy now started to his feet with a cry of rage. And then--- as July described the exhibition later--he "gritted his teeth and shook his fist and cussed awful." The negro did not exaggerate. Buck Hardy's rage was as vocal as it was intense. He exhausted all the most picturesque and crushing profanity he could think of, concluding: "I wish to God I could get my hands on one o' them devils!"

It was on the tip of Ted's tongue to say: "Well, then, why don't you go where you can get a chance to do it?" But a warning nudge from Hubert reminded him to be discreet in the case of their best friend in the camp. He also remembered July's advice not to push the big slacker too hard. And perhaps he didn't need any pushing now; for clearly he was awakened. So Ted merely watched Buck's signs of incandescent anger with great joy and said nothing.

But Buck himself must have seen the thought in the boy's glowing eyes. He must have sensed something in the general atmosphere of the fire-lit circle tending to convey to him the startling warning that he had put himself to the test by his own outburst. At all events he suddenly shut his lips, turned on his heel, and strode off into the dark woods.

"The Huns are beastly," Ted then remarked to nobody in particular, "but after fifty years of training they are fine soldiers and it's no picnic to down them. That's why our country needs every able-bodied young man to go on the job."

An embarrassing moment followed. Ted looked around at the sober-faced slackers and their eyes fell before him. They had been thrilled, horrified, stirred with anger and feelings of outrage; but they were not ready to face the question they feared the persistent and plucky boy would put to them. They shifted their positions uneasily, began to get on their feet, and then in twos and threes went hurriedly off to bed, anxious to escape another direct appeal.

"You put up a great talk and you sort of got hold of some of them this time," whispered Hubert; "but you see--as I've told you before--that it won't do any good."

"Maybe it will--after a while," said Ted, his eyes still glowing.

Buck Hardy now reappeared and called back two of the retreating slackers. With their help, and without a word, he lifted Ted and carried him up the ladder to his bed in the sleeping-loft.

XIII

Ted heard the slackers leave the sleeping-loft early the next morning, but he did not stir. He knew that he ought to keep quiet, and, after reluctantly resigning himself to the necessity, he turned slightly on his bed of Spanish moss and fell asleep again. When he awoke he was alone in the loft. A few minutes later July appeared with his breakfast, telling him that all the slackers had "done gone" and that Hubert was "frolicin' wid Billy."

"Mr. Buck Hardy say you mus' stay in dat bed all day," the negro informed him, adding: "Mr. Hardy sho is hurted in his mind. He don't say a word hardly. When I woke up late in de night las' night I seen him standin' out dere by de fire thinkin'. I reckon he studyin' 'bout dat waw an' all you tole him."

Buck's reported disturbance of mind was Ted's only comfort during the long, tiresome day, for he felt confident that he knew the cause and was hopeful of the issue. Hubert, Billy and July visited him several times during the day, and at dinner time Buck Hardy, Al Peters and Bud Jones all spent a few minutes at his bedside, doing their best to cheer him up; but the boy spent some lonely hours and the consciousness of his and Hubert's captivity oppressed him as at no time during the previous days of activity and diversion. What was to be the end of it? Did their disappearance cause alarm at Judge Ridgway's farm? Had his uncle returned from Washington, and, if so, what did he think, and what would he do?

It was very hard to lie quiet and just think, think, think. But the next day Ted was glad he had done so, for he found that the complete rest, aided perhaps by the salve made of bear's marrow, had had a wonderfully healing effect. He could stand on his injured foot without pain and was able to walk with a limp. The two succeeding days, spent very quietly about the camp, were much less hard to endure, and on the fourth day he was almost himself again.

Meanwhile there had been talk with the slackers at meal times and about the camp fire at night, but the boy found little opportunity to speak of the war. If he introduced the subject the conversation was promptly diverted into other channels. Ted noticed with discouragement that even Buck Hardy seemed to wish to hear no more. And so, fearing that after all he would be able to accomplish nothing, the boy found his thoughts turning toward plans of escape from captivity as soon as he felt assured of his ability to stand the strain of hard travel.

On the fourth morning both boys gladly accepted an invitation from Buck to make a trip with him in his boat. The big slacker announced at breakfast that he expected to visit Honey Island and, as their last harvest of honey was now exhausted, he would keep an eye open for a bee tree. The island to which they were going had received its name, it appeared, in consequence of several discoveries of bee trees there.

July was ordered to prepare a lunch and the three were soon ready to start. Sweet Jackson observed their preparations narrowly and before they got off he called two young men known as Zack James and Jim Carter, aside and urged them to accompany or follow the party.

"I'm a-scared Buck aims to turn them boys loose," he said. "That biggity little chap worries him a-carryin' on and exhortin' about the war the way he does--I kin see it--and I wouldn't be surprised if he wants to git shed o' them boys. I'd like to git shed of 'em myself, but it won't do--it ain't safe. You fellows better go 'long to Honey Island and keep yer eye on them boys."

The precaution was one in which they were equally interested, and the two young men readily agreed to go. As he was poling his bateau off from the shore, Buck was surprised to see them coming down the path, each with a gun in one hand and a bucket in the other.

"We aimed to go over that way this mornin', too," Zack James called out. "Mebby we'd better keep together, Buck, till you find a bee tree, so we kin holp you cut it down and gether the honey."

"All right," said Buck, after a keen, appraising look at the two men.

It was soon evident to all, however, that the "cock of the walk" was displeased. During the long hard pull of more than two and a half hours over the boat-road winding through flooded swamp and forest he did not once speak to James or Carter, although the distance between the boats was rarely greater than a hundred yards and often not more than a few feet. But he spoke now and then to the boys, pointing out objects likely to interest them, usually at moments when their trail-followers were out of earshot.

"Honey Island ain't as big as ours," he told them once, casually adding: "On t'other side from where we'll land there's a good trail that leads out of the swamp. It's wet and boggy in places, but you don't need a boat. I reckon I could git out of the swamp in half a day by that trail."

Ted wondered how long it would take him and Hubert to reach the outer world by the same path. They could not attempt it to-day, of course, even if they found opportunity, because his injured ankle was not yet in shape to stand hard travel, and he supposed that this probably accounted for Buck's willingness to mention its existence. He decided that it would be wise to locate it, if possible, as part of the preparation for future attempted escape.

"Hubert," called out Zack James when the island was reached, "pick up that piece o' rope in yer boat and fetch it along; we'll need it, mebby."

The boats had run aground several yards from dry land, and all hands were now wading out, Hubert being the last to step into the water, carrying the desired coil of rope.

"I believe I kin go right to one," said Buck, as soon as they had struggled through the dense "hammock" and gained the higher level of the island. "When I was huntin' h-yer week before last I saw lots and cords of bees, and I watched which way they was flyin'. If I'd 'a had time, I could 'a spotted one right then."

No one was surprised, therefore, when little more than an hour later a bee tree was found. Pausing under a tall pine, the big slacker turned to his followers and pointed to an almost continuous stream of bees, a dark line against the bright sky, issuing from an unseen hole in the trunk of the tree a few inches below the lowest branch, but more than fifty feet from the ground.

It was now midday, and before attacking the tree, the party sat down on the wiregrass and ate the lunch which July had prepared. Then James and Carter rose and vigorously plied their axes on opposite sides of the tree. Scarcely had the chips begun to fly when Buck turned to Ted and said:

"If you boys want to, you kin take your guns and run around for a little hunt while we're cuttin' the tree and getherin' the honey."

"I've seen one bee tree cut already, and I believe I would rather walk around," said Ted.

He turned to go as he spoke and promptly disappeared beyond a blackjack thicket, followed closely by Hubert, who still carried the coil of rope over his arm.

"This looks like as good a chance to get away as we may ever have," said Ted as soon as they were out of earshot.

"Yes, if we can hurry up and find that half-day trail," Hubert eagerly agreed. "Do you think your ankle can stand a rush?"

"No--that's the trouble," answered Ted. "Besides it would be much better to have July with us, and I believe he'll go when the time comes. Let's find the trail, though, so that we won't have to lose any time if we get off by boat and make for this island."

The watchful James had not failed to note the departure of the boys and he at once began to show signs of fatigue, drawing his breath very hard, putting in his strokes more slowly, and finally pausing altogether, with an exclamation indicating that his exhaustion was complete.

"Tired out a'ready?" asked Buck contemptuously; and, taking the axe, which was willingly resigned to him, he began to swing it with great vigor.

This was precisely what James desired, and he lost no time in quietly withdrawing to a point whence he darted into the bushes on the track of the boys. Half an hour later, as Ted and Hubert hurried forward, leaping over logs and forcing their way through crowding underbrush, the former happened to look in the direction whence they had come and distinctly saw a man leap behind a tree.

"It's no use, Hubert," he said, pausing. "We can't even find the trail this trip. Zack James is following us; I saw him jump behind a tree."

"Then Jim Carter is with him, and they'll stop us before we go far," declared Hubert.

"Maybe it's just as well," said Ted philosophically. "We know about where the trail is, and I was running great risk of spraining my ankle again."

They sat down, panting on a log, agreeing to go forward more slowly a half mile further, and then return to the bee tree, just as if their trip had been a hunt and nothing more.

They then rose and moved on, picking their way more cautiously. A few minutes later Ted halted and signed to Hubert to be quiet, as a crow suddenly cawed and flew out of a tree two or three hundred yards in their front.

"That crow saw something, I'll bet," he whispered, and when what appeared to be fresh bear tracks were discovered, he added triumphantly: "I told you so."

The tracks soon led them into what was doubtless the path of an aforetime tornado, the ground being crowded with uprooted trees, which had been thrown across each other at every angle and lay "heaped in confusion dire." Here the trail was lost, but the boys still cautiously advanced.

At the end of another hundred yards, standing on an elevated log and looking forward, Ted became greatly excited at the discovery, not twenty feet away, of a small open space covered with a deep drift of pine needles, in the center of which were two round depressions or beds, some fifteen inches deep and not less than four feet in diameter. In one of these were two young bears, apparently asleep while their mother was away feeding.