CHAPTER XXII.

THE MAN-TRAP.

“Seems like it took a scout to do the job, and make such an important discovery!” Step Hen hastened to remark, apparently proud of the fact that he too wore that magical khaki uniform.

“But where’s the gun, I don’t see?” demanded Bumpus, who seldom allowed himself to wholly believe things, until he understood all the details, for he could be very practical when he wanted.

“Watch Thad, and you’ll know,” Giraffe told him.

Thad was bending down, and to all appearances examining the stout cord that had been drawn directly across the trail, mostly hidden by the low scrub. It had been arranged by a master-hand at cunning, and was just high enough to make certain that a careless foot would strike against it, bringing about the immediate result that the one who had placed it there contemplated.

Without even touching the cord the young scoutmaster commenced to follow it along, foot by foot. The sheriff’s posse, including Alligator Smith, the swamp guide, stood there and just watched to see what he would do. Somehow all of them seemed to have taken a strange liking for the patrol leader. Perhaps it was his manly bearing that made Thad friends so quickly; while the errand that had brought him down to Dixieland may have had more or less to do with it; for the hearts of these Southern boys and men are always tender toward one who has suffered; and chivalry toward women and girls still abounds in the South as it can be found nowhere else in this broad land of ours.

But then that was an old story with Giraffe and the rest of the fellows; ever since Thad Brewster had come to Cranford and entered into their sports they had been accustomed to seeing him make new and warm friends as though he might be a wizard.

Meanwhile the scout was apparently nearing the spot upon which his attention had been centered. It was only a dozen or so feet away from the trail and seemed to be where three trees grew up in a queer clump, being shoots of a former swamp king among the oaks.

Here Thad paused and bent still lower.

“He’s struck ile!” one of the posse was heard to say to a companion.

“Reckon as haow he hes, Jed,” another went on to remark.

Bumpus stared as best he could, and waited impatiently to see what would be the result of Thad’s search. He held his breath so long, through eagerness, that his face grew furiously red; and one of the posse even moved a little further away from the fat boy, possibly under the vague suspicion that he was about to have a fit; or from some other reason.

“Bully for Thad!” Giraffe was heard to say, a little louder than discretion might have dictated; at least Allan gave him a nudge in the back, which the tall scout understood to mean “less noise, there!” for he cut his exultant ejaculations short, and wilted.

“It’s a sure-enough gun!” admitted Bumpus, giving a sort of whistle as he allowed his breath to flow evenly again; just as you may have heard the hydrant do when there is air in the pipe, and the water has been turned on or off suddenly.

But then all of them had already made sure of that same fact, even if they did not think it necessary to announce it in the same way the fat scout did.

Thad came back to where they were grouped, awaiting him, and holding in his hand the gun he had unfastened from amidst the three saplings, where some one had secured it, with the muzzle pointing straight toward the spot at which the trail was crossed by that concealed cord.

“It was a sure enough man-trap!” Davy remarked, in considerable awe, as he noted that the hammer of the old gun was still drawn back, as though ready to be discharged with the slightest pull.

Bumpus noticed that there still hung from the trigger a foot or so of that cord and from this he judged Thad must have just drawn the blade of his knife gently across the taut line; as the scout-master was very particular to always keep his hunting knife in perfect condition, the edge of the blade was as keen as a razor, and would sever that cord without the slightest influence upon the gun.

“Well, that was a smart dodge, all right!” the Dixie sheriff remarked, admiringly, as Thad handed him the gun, which seemed to be an old musket, such as several of the posse were even then carrying, and which had perhaps played its part during those troublous times many years back, when the yankee horde invaded Southern pastures, and gradually, through force of numbers, drove the gallant Confederates to the wall.

“Of course it was aiming right this way, Thad?” remarked Step Hen.

“Yes, if any one of us had been silly enough to drag that cord with our feet, the gun would have been fired, and whatever it contains must have come this way, with more or less painful results,” the other informed him.

“Huh! looks to me like it’d hold just about a pint of bullets, old nails or anything else that’s calculated to give trouble,” said Davy, as he respectfully touched the rusty old weapon that Jasper must have fetched along especially for the purpose to which it had been put.

“And,” Thad continued, “you can see how he expected it to serve two purposes; for besides standing a chance of wounding some one when it went off, the gun would give him warning, and he could have time to escape. It was a clever trick, and shows us what sort of smart rascal we’re looking up.”

“An I wanter say right heah,” remarked Alligator Smith, frankly; “thet it’s all owin’ tuh them sharp eyes o’ yourn we ain’t riddled afore now by the shot er bullets as mout be in this yer gun; ’case I admits as how I never sot out tuh look to’ any sech contraption in ther grass er brush; an’ chances air I’d gone stumblin’ right acrost, so as tuh draw thet trigger, an’ upset theh fat in theh fire, even if I war lucky enuff tuh ’scape gettin’ plugged myself. Arter this I’m agwine tuh larn more ’bout scouts an’ sech. Seems like they knows ther bizness; an’ even a ole swamp hunter like me kin larn somethin’ frum theh same.”

“Hurrah!” said Giraffe; but he knew Allan was standing close beside him, and not feeling like drawing another stiff dig in the ribs as a reproof, he just whispered the one word, while pretending to clap his hands; for these boys were justly proud of their calling, and could never hear words of praise uttered for scout-craft without a personal sense of satisfaction.

“Well, that’s one game failed, anyway!” Bumpus was heard to say, half to himself, as though in imagination he was thus decreasing the perils that he expected were lying in wait along their course.

“They’ll all fall before us, see if they don’t,” Davy Jones went on to say, as though his confidence had grown by leaps and bounds, and had reached a final stage when he saw Thad nip the plot of the enemy so neatly.

“Sometime I’d just like to take the trouble to draw the load he put in that old musket,” Step Hen told Smithy, who was close to his elbow.

“Whatever good would that do you?” asked the other, who could not understand why any one could allow his curiosity to make him so much unnecessary work; for while Smithy had reformed in many ways, he still “shirked” a little, Thad had often noticed, for he had never been shown the delight of _doing things_.

“Well, don’t you understand that it might give a fellow a certain amount of satisfaction to know what a narrow escape he had?” asked the other. “Suppose now, I was to extract seven bullets, sixteen rusty nails, a couple of marbles, four screws and a few other things I just can’t think of, from that old cannon, wouldn’t the sight of the lot make me gladder than ever that Thad found it out in time; and that we didn’t get that wagon-load of stuff turned in on us, backed by six drams of black powder? Smithy, you ain’t got any idea of being thankful over things. Just however would you be able to keep on talking in that stilted lawyer-like way you’ve got, if a nail had knocked a bunch of teeth out—tell me that, will you?”

“Aw! keep still, there, Step Hen, this ain’t the place for arguments like that. Just wait till we’ve got to the end of the trail, and then some!”

Strange to say it was neither Thad nor Allan who took the trouble to admonish the talkative scout in this fashion, but Giraffe himself. Since he was debarred from giving _his_ opinion by the proximity of Allan and his ready hand, the tall member of the patrol evidently thought that he could at least find some satisfaction by passing the reproof along; since misery likes company.

But all the same, while Step Hen did relapse into silence after being told so plainly that he had no business to air his views, he took especial pains to notice where Thad laid the old rusty musket down in a clump of brush.

“Huh! reckon I could find that place again, easy,” the boy was telling himself in confidence; “and I will, too, if everything passes off comfy, and we get our man. Guess there ain’t much danger of our missing connections there, with such a bully mob to surround the place, and fellows like our Thad to think up things. I want to just show Smithy what there is in that gun, and s’prise him, that’s all.”

Now that the trail could be followed once more without much danger of another man-trap, Thad and the swamp-guide were again starting out; though the latter before taking a step had made sure to add further warning to what he had already said about every one keeping as still as possible.

Really there was little need of saying that, for it was easy to see from the set looks on all those faces how the men and boys were alive to the occasion, and not likely to risk spoiling the surround by any incautious move, or loud unnecessary talk.

One thing at least favored them a little. This was the breeze, which seemed to be blowing directly in their faces. Thus any sounds they might happen to make would not be carried ahead, as would have been the case should they have been traveling _down_ the wind.

This probably came about by sheer accident; but all the same it was noticed by those of the scouts who were woodsmen enough to pay attention to small things; and of course Thad and the swamp-hunter had known of it all along.

The boys presently realized that they must be close upon the broad slough spoken of by Tom Smith, when he declared that the sunken ridge which must be followed was the only way he knew about whereby passage might be effected, so as to reach the higher island wooded beyond; though he had at the same time admitted that Jasper might have some other means for escaping if hard pressed, discovered when, as a boy, he frequently visited this section of the swamp.

“There she is!” muttered Giraffe, and Bumpus, hearing the low words, raised his eyes from the ground, to stare ahead at the prospect facing them.

It did not require any particular knowledge of woodcraft to proclaim that what the elongated scout had remarked was quite true, for the dreadful bog might have no substantial bottom short of a hundred feet, was before them.

It looked bad to Bumpus, stretching away for several hundred yards to where the trees again grew heavily on solid ground. The ooze was deceptive. It had a green scum on the surface in places, as though some verdure had taken root, but in all probability had any one ventured to trust his weight upon such deceptive spots he must have speedily found himself immersed in muck up to his knees, or worse, and unable alone and unaided to ever keep himself from sinking gradually deeper and deeper, until it was over his head.

Bumpus shivered as he looked. It was as though he felt in his very bones that an unkind fate destined him to make the test as to whether the bad name given to this bog were well deserved, or not.

As they stood there on the edge looking out, while the alligator hunter was making sure that he knew exactly where to enter the muck bed, so as to feel out the sunken roadway that wound in zig-zag fashion over to the island, good-natured Bob White felt some one poke him in the side.

Looking down he saw the solemn face of Bumpus there; and there was an expression of almost pitiful appeal in the eyes of the fat scout, such as the Southern boy remembered once noticing in the brown orbs of a deer he had wounded, and which had to be put out of its misery.

But then of course he did not anticipate that Bumpus was going to ask him to do the merciful thing by him, and end his sufferings; though he understood plainly enough that the stout scout was enduring some sort of agony of mind.

“Will you do me a favor, a great favor, Bob, _please_?” Bumpus whispered, looking quickly around at the same time, as though wishing to make sure that neither Davy nor Giraffe were close enough to overhear what he said.

“To be sure I will, Bumpus,” quickly replied the other; “anything within reason you can count on me doing, suh. I believe in scouts standing by each other.”

“Oh! thank you, Bob; it’s kind of you to say that,” Bumpus went on, as he tried to thrust something into the hand of the other. “Please take this, and if it does happen, pull like everything; because I’m heavy, you know, and chances are I’d sink quicker’n any of the rest of you.”

“But—this is a piece of heavy cord, Bumpus, perhaps the same that was stretched across the trail a little while ago?” exclaimed the astonished Bob.

“That’s right, I was quick to see how I might use it, for scouts are expected to keep their brains moving all the time. You see,” continued Bumpus, confidingly. “I just feel it in my bones that I’ll be the one to miss connections with that crazy old hidden path, and fall slap into the mud, and I’ve got the other end tied under my arms; so in case you hear a splash, be ready to hold tight, Bob. That’s a good fellow!”