CHAPTER XX.

THE SCOUTS SHOW THE WAY.

“Thad!”

Step Hen leaned back in the boat he occupied in company with Bumpus, Davy Jones and the scout-master, as he softly uttered the name of the last mentioned.

“Yes, what is it, Step Hen?” remarked Thad.

“Would you mind if I asked a single question?” pursued the other, speaking as near a whisper as he could, and still make his voice carry.

“Go ahead, then,” the other went on to say, knowing full well that when once Step Hen’s curiosity became fully aroused there was nothing to do but gratify it; besides, had he not often told the scouts that a certain amount of “wanting to know” was commendable?

“Why, I saw you talking with the sheriff just before we started out again, and while you were ashore; would it be a fair question to ask what you fixed up with him?” Step Hen inquired, boldly.

“Oh! nothing that would make any change in our plans,” said Thad. “The fact is, I was a little nervous about what might happen in all the excitement of a fight; and it was only my plan to get the sheriff to promise that he would warn every man in the whole posse to be very careful not to injure a hair of the girl’s head, even by accident; that’s all, Step Hen.”

“Thank you, Thad, and I hope you don’t think I was putting in my oar where I had no business to?”

“Sure I don’t,” replied the scout-master; “we’re all chums, and I’m certain that every one of you feels almost as much interest as I do about meeting up with this girl Jasper has with him, and learning whether she can be our little Polly. But please don’t talk any more just now, Step Hen; because it isn’t best; and besides, I want to do some tall thinking.”

Neither Bumpus nor Davy had taken any part in this little whispered conversation but they had listened eagerly, and doubtless caught every word that was spoken; if one could judge from their manner, and the great sigh that the fat scout managed to heave when Thad brought the talk to an abrupt close.

Yes, it was true that every member of the Silver Fox Patrol did feel that he had a deep personal interest in the outcome of this journey and search. Thad was very dear to them all, and many times they had pitied the boy because, outside of old “Daddy” Brewster, his uncle and guardian, he seemed to have no close relatives, while they all had parents, and in most cases either brothers or sisters, perhaps both.

Now, Thad was a sunny-natured lad, and not given to complaining; yet these warm chums of the Boy Scout Troop could remember instances where tears had come into his fine eyes when visiting at the home of some comrade around Christmas time, and he seemed to realize what it was to be without even one brother or sister, and lacking the love and affection of father and mother.

And now that there really seemed a chance of Thad’s discovering a sweet little sister to love and care for, every scout was praying pretty much continually in his mind, that the expedition might not turn out a failure, but that when they once more turned their faces northward there would be an addition to their number, and that Thad would be smiling all the while with supreme happiness.

Meanwhile Tom Smith was leading them carefully on.

It was entirely different now from what the advance of the sheriff’s posse had been before the scouts met the crowd. Up to that time noise had predominated, with the hounds baying wildly, and men shouting back and forth, as though by this means they expected to frighten the swamp fugitives into surrendering.

Scout tactics now prevailed. When real woodsmen start out to track an enemy, or even a wild animal, they adopt the ways of the wolf or the stealthy Indian, and keep utterly silent. Why, even the paddles seemed to rise and fall with nothing to mark their laboring save possibly the trickling drip of drops of water falling from the elevated blades; so careful were those who handled the same how they used them.

Had they been trying to approach a feeding deer on the edge of the water among lilypads the scouts could not have exercised greater caution; and those in the other boats, noticing how gently the boys drove their canoes along, made haste to pattern after them, not wishing to be outdone.

All the while the swamp was getting more and more lonely looking, and the vegetation becoming even thicker, showing that Alligator Smith must be taking them to a part of the great morass where few people ever came.

Undoubtedly he had his reasons for this, and more than one of the scouts found himself nearly bursting with eagerness to know what these could be; but so long as the guide remained in the lead there was no opportunity to put questions, even could they muster up courage enough to attempt it.

Of course they were constantly on the alert, not knowing at what moment there might come a change in the conditions, and something not down on the bills occur to break the monotony of the advance.

Some of them remembered what the sheriff had said about this Jasper, and how, if all accounts were true, there would be a wild time when they finally rounded him up, as he would not succumb without a desperate fight.

Bumpus watched the bushes and trees ahead of the guide’s boat. He was a great fellow to imagine things, and doubtless had many a sudden start when some bird stirred, or a small swamp animal scudded away, each time causing poor nervous Bumpus to imagine that it must be the terrible Jasper who was hidden there, drawing a bead on the most prominent object in the leading canoe behind that of the guide, and which of course meant himself.

But then, try as he would he could not reduce his bulk any more than had already been done; and so he must continue to play the part of “martyr,” serving as a shield to his three more fortunate chums back in the boat.

The guide moderated his pace from time to time. Bumpus wondered at first whether this came from a fear lest he might be running into an ambush cleverly set by the man in hiding; but after watching more carefully he finally realized that he was far from striking the truth when he thought this way.

In fact, these periods of seeming hesitancy were only indulged in when the men on the shore had fallen somewhat behind; and undoubtedly it must be Tom Smith’s plan to allow them an opportunity to come up again, so that the entire company might be close together.

Finally Bumpus noticed that the guide was now heading straight in toward the land, as though he meant to give over the water part of the trip; whereat the fat scout had a thrill of expectancy and joy sweep over him; for once they left the boats it would no longer be necessary for him to stick there in the van, such a conspicuous object, when by rights he felt much more at home in the rear, letting such fire-eaters as Giraffe and Bob White take the lead if they felt so inclined. “Every one to his taste,” was the motto of Bumpus; and as for him he always loudly declared that Nature had not intended him to be a fighter, or else would he have been fashioned on a different model from that of a dumpling.

Yes, now Tom Smith had driven the prow of his clumsy canoe right into the bank, and he was clambering out of the same, showing that there was about to be a positive change in the character of the hunt.

A minute later and Bumpus was able to clamber over the bow of his own boat, and actually reach solid ground. How he drew in a great breath of relief when this became an accomplished fact. After all, give him the touch of good old _terra firma_—how well he remembered going to the dictionary to find out what those italicized words meant when he first came across them in a story of young plant hunters written by one who used to be a great favorite among the boys several generations past—Captain Mayne Reid, but who is seldom known to the lads of to-day; and ever since that time Bumpus had been prone to spring his knowledge upon his unsuspecting fellow scouts, until they threatened all sorts of dire things unless he changed his tune.

Still the very thought of “solid ground” must always please a fellow built on the order of an elephant, Bumpus told them time and again, as an excuse for his satisfaction. However, he did not dare open his mouth now to say a single word, and had to take it out in sighing, and mentally shaking hands with himself.

Presently they were all gathered there. The boats were drawn up on the bank to be left in charge of a guard, for it would not be very pleasant if they returned later on, to find that some enemy had been there, and either carried their canoes off, or else in some way smashed holes in the bottoms, so that they would be useless for the return trip.

The sheriff, Thad and Tom Smith came together and talked for several minutes in low tones, the rest gathering around, and trying to get in touch with what was being said.

Had any one been noticing Davy very closely, however, they might have seen him moving uneasily, then withdrawing his eyes from the central figures to look hurriedly around him; and after that deliberately walking away so that he could place himself on the _windward_ side of the large group.

“Huh!” grunted Bumpus, frowning when he saw this, for he had by accident been pushing up against Davy at the time, in his eagerness to hear what the leaders were deciding on; “think you’re smart, don’t you? But I kinder reckon you’re overdoing the thing, and you’ll get called down good and hard by Thad, if you don’t let me alone. Huh! who cares, anyway?”

Bumpus became aware about this time of the fact that Tom Smith was no longer standing still, but had begun to move off, as though meaning to lead them on land the balance of the way.

He also seemed to keep close to the border of the water, for some reason or other, as though either the trail led there, or else he had some object in not immediately plunging into the thick of the scrub.

Before they had gone fifty yards this object was made manifest. The guide carefully parted the tall reeds that grew in the shallow water, and then beckoned to the others to come forward and look for themselves.

Of course the scouts were in the van, and they quickly discovered what it was the swamp guide wished them to see.

“Why, it’s only an old boat, after all!” grumbled Bumpus, who had possibly anticipated discovering a monstrous alligator, or else the terrible Jasper himself.

“Yes, only a boat,” added Allan, who was at his elbow; “but it belongs to the man we’re looking for, and tells us that we’ll find him home, when we get to where he hangs out; for that’s the means he has of coming and going. Things look good to me.”