CHAPTER XVII.

THE SHERIFF’S ROUND-UP POSSE.

“How will that affect your game, Thad, do you think?” asked Allan, anxiously, after the alligator hunter had spoken so seriously about the possible scouring of the big swamp by this energetic sheriff, bound to clean it up at last, after it had borne such a bad name for years and years as a harboring place for desperate characters, voodoo worshippers and all such.

“I don’t know,” replied the scout-master, with a line across his forehead, showing that the master was already beginning to loom up in his mind as something that must yet be experienced. “Perhaps we’ll profit by his coming; and then again it may be just the other way. But one thing sure, no matter what we wish, it isn’t going to change things any. So we’ll have to move along, and take them as they come.”

“But they’re heading this way, all right,” said Giraffe, “because the yelps are getting louder all the while.”

“Tell me, please,” broke in Bumpus at this interesting juncture, “however can a dog follow a trail through the water? I don’t know a great deal of woodcraft, and tracking, and all that stuff, but I reckon I’ve read about fellows that were being chased by dogs, throwing ’em off the scent by wading down a stream half a mile.”

“And you’re right there, Bumpus,” replied Allan, immediately; “that’s a trick as old as the hills, and one that’s been practiced from the days of the Pilgrim Fathers. Nothing like water to upset the keenest-nosed dog that ever lived.”

“Yes,” added Smithy, also anxious to air his scanty knowledge along this line; “and you can read about just such a happening in one of Cooper’s old Leatherstocking tales. I remember distinctly that such a thing occurred.”

“But hold on, don’t everybody butt in, and keep me waiting so long,” Bumpus interrupted again. “I asked Thad a question.”

“Well, we’ll have to turn to Tom Smith here for an answer,” said the scout-master; “though of course it goes without saying that dogs would be worth mighty little in case the fugitives were in canoes.”

“Dogs can swim, all right, but water leaves no trail, they say,” Step Hen ventured to remark, wanting to be counted as having also placed his opinion on record.

“How about this, Mr. Smith?” asked Davy.

“Wall, it mout be thisaway,” the swamp hunter told them; “yuh kin see thet thar be a heap o’ land in ridges ’round heah, an’ the dorgs is a runnin’ o’ ’em out. Mebbe they be men in boats along wid the rest; so day arter day they kin kiver a new section, an’ jest clean up ther hull swamp in ther end.”

“But why d’ye reckon, suh, they’d want to be doing this same right now?” came from Bob White, in his soft Southern tones.

“Yuh gits me thar, younker,” replied the guide. “I dunno as how this heah sheriff he done been set on tuh ’tempt this big job by the way people kept anaggin’ o’ him. Yuh see, ever sense I kin remember they been agwine tuh do this same thing, an’ clean up Alligator Swamp; but as ther yeahs slipped by it hain’t neveh been ’tempted up tuh now. I shore jest clean ’spected ole Tom Smith’d neveh live tuh see thet day. It looks like a miracle war agwine tuh be kerried out, thet’s what it does tuh me. But we’ll soon know all ’bout thet same.”

“Yes, because the dogs are certainly heading this way,” Thad added.

“I knows every foot o’ ther ground, suh,” continued Tom; “an’ guv yuh my word them hounds air jest a follerin’ thet ridge yuh see right heah. Thar’s a brace o’ ther critters too, ’case I heard ther second un jest now.”

“Then the chances are that if we just lie on our oars as we’re doing now, we’ll see the dogs, and of course the sheriff’s posse too, before long?” Allan observed.

“Hain’t got tuh move a yard, suh; jest wait,” the other declared.

“What would we do if they just took a notion to swim out to us, and climb aboard?” Bumpus wanted to know; as though that notion might be causing him not a small amount of concern; doubtless in imagination he could see a pair of ferocious tan colored bloodhounds forcing their way into the canoes, and snapping at the occupants most savagely.

“Oh! we could poke the paddles down their throats, and gag them both that way!” Giraffe gaily told him; for the tall scout did not take to forebodings the same way as Bumpus, to whom small things often looked serious.

“I’m not bothering my head about what the dogs may do,” Thad spoke up; “but it is a matter of some importance as to what their masters may attempt. They’re on the hunt for tough characters, and of course hardly expect to run across a party of Boy Scouts in the swamp. We must find out some way to let them know we’re friends, before they start shooting at us.”

“Oh! I hope we can do that same!” muttered Bumpus, much concerned. “Even if they didn’t hit any of us, they might make the boats leak like sieves; and I just know this black looking water must be awful deep right here. Besides, who wants to have to swim for it, with his clothes on, and all them nasty wiggling moccasin snakes awaiting to bite a fellow? Excuse me!”

As usual no one paid much attention to his wailing, for they were accustomed to hearing Bumpus suggest all sorts of queer happenings that were hardly likely to come to pass.

“Do you happen to know the name of this sheriff, Tom Smith?” Thad inquired.

“I reckons as how I voted fo’ the same, an’ orter know Hawkins Badgely,” the other replied, promptly.

“That sounds good to me,” Thad went on to say. “I always like to know the name of the man I’m up against; it often saves lots of time. Now, when they get close up, you must call out at the top of your voice, and address him as Sheriff Badgely. Get that, Tom?”

“Yes, suh, I does.”

“When he answers you,” Thad continued, deliberately, “tell him to order his men not to shoot; that you are with a party of boys exploring the swamp, and would like him to come and join us. Until we know more about what brings the sheriff in here, perhaps we’d be wise not to tell him too much of our private business.”

“I ketches on tuh what yuh mean, suh; an’ I shore thinks hit a smart dodge. Arter we-uns finds out what fetches this heah posse ’round these diggin’s, we kin open up an’ tell what we thinks best.”

“How long will it be before they reach us, Tom?” asked Giraffe, always impatient.

“Yuh see the dorgs, they jest hes got tuh foller ther ridges tuh we-uns, an’ I reckon as how it mout be ten minits er so,” the guide informed him, after what seemed to be a rapid mental calculation.

“And say, perhaps now, when this old moonshiner hears the hounds, maybe he won’t sit up and take notice!” exclaimed Davy, chuckling, as though he had a personal grievance against Ricky, because at the time the other fired that warning shot Davy had been so quick to draw in his head, like a tortoise, that he felt a stinging pain in the muscles of his neck, which spot he had been rubbing ever since.

“He’ll think the world is going to come to an end, with seeing uniformed scouts in two boats, and then the sheriff’s posse coming. Listen, and you can hear the men calling out to each other right now, fellows!” Step Hen observed.

Somehow the sounds seemed unusually strange; for conditions go to make things loom up; and with those weird surroundings on every hand the boys could certainly find enough to imagine a mighty thrilling spectacle.

Yes, the members of the big posse which the energetic sheriff had summoned to make a clean sweep of this pestiferous swamp hole, the hiding place of every rascal for generations, were exchanging calls, possibly between the boats and those who followed the hounds on shore.

“Sounds like there might be a lot of the same?” remarked Bumpus, after they had been listening for several minutes; and without doubt the noisy parties were coming nearer all the while.

“I shore reckons as how the sheriff he wants tuh make a clean sweep o’ hit this time,” the guide commented.

“If he’s been brought up in this parish he must know Alligator Swamp is a pretty big affair, and that if he wants to comb it all over, he’s got to have a little army of helpers,” Thad went on to say.

“I wonder now, how they work them dogs?” Bumpus was heard to say, half to himself.

“Oh! sometimes they keep the animals fast in the leash,” Allan told him, knowing what was still worrying the fat scout; “though there are occasions when they have to let them run free. They are trained to make a coon take to a tree; and there they keep him until the posse comes along.”

“But if he just _won’t_ get up in a tree, or happens to be too heavy to jump?” inquired Bumpus.

“Why, then he has to fight for it, because the hounds will surely attack him, as they are pretty savage,” Giraffe hastened to say.

“Well, there are only two of ’em anyhow; an’ I shot a great big grizzly onct, maybe you remember, Giraffe,” the other remarked, grimly. “I’ve got a gun that can be depended on every time. All you’ve got to do is to aim straight, and pull the trigger, and it does the rest,” and Bumpus was seen to be gripping his weapon while making these truly ferocious remarks.

“Look here,” spoke up Thad, severely, “none of that, Bumpus. These dogs are on land, and they’ll not be apt to bother us one whit. No matter what happens, don’t you dare to think of firing a single shot without I give the order. It would be rank mutiny, and you know the penalty of that. If a scout is alone, and has to act on his own initiative, it’s all very well; but when the scout-master is along, every member of the patrol must look to him for orders. Understand that?”

“Sure I do, Thad; and I wasn’t thinking of doing anything to get us in a peck of trouble with this old sheriff; only, if I saw a dog trying to grab Giraffe here, or Davy, by the neck, I’d feel like shooing him off, wouldn’t I? Well, after he’d give ’em a little scare I would, that’s all.”

Bumpus relapsed into silence after that, though it could be seen that he was very nervous, for he kept bobbing up and down every little while.

Closer came the loud calls, until it became evident that the sheriff’s posse must be almost upon them; for the hounds were now giving tongue just beyond that fringe of scrub ashore, and they could hear both the crackling of bushes and the splash of several paddles.

“I think it’s about time you hailed the sheriff, Tom Smith,” remarked Thad, when he was convinced that further delay might cause them trouble.

“Jest as yuh sez, suh,” replied the swamp guide, as he raised his hands to his mouth to serve as a megaphone.