“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.