“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.”