“What’s the matter?” asked Bart, making an unsuccessful attempt to get rid of the ropes binding his arms and legs.
“Why we’re in Oak Swamp, or, right on the edge of it,” replied Fenn. “They brought us farther than I thought they did. But we’ll fool ’em all right. We’ll get loose, skip out, and when they come back they won’t find us. Wait until I get these ropes off my legs, and I’ll help you fellows.”
Fenn was as good as his word. A few seconds later he was free from his bonds, and, in turn, he released Bart, Frank and Ned. They all looked around in some surprise, for they had no idea that they had been brought so far from home. The wagon had traveled faster than they had suspected.
“Oak Swamp,” mused Bart. “It’s a good thing it’s coming on winter instead of summer, or we’d be eaten up with mosquitoes. Well, let’s get out of here. I don’t like the place.”
Indeed it was gloomy and dismal enough at any time, but now, on a late fall evening, with darkness fast approaching, it was anything but an inviting place. The swamp derived its name from a number of scrub oak trees that grew in it. During the summer it was a treacherous place to visit, for there were deep muck holes scattered through it, and more than one cow, and several horses, had broken out of the pastures, and wandered into the wet place, only to sink down to their deaths. It was said that several years before a man had endeavored to cross the swamp, had been caught in a bog hole, and sucked down into its depths, his body never having been recovered.
So it was with a feeling of no little satisfaction that Bart and his chums found themselves able to leave the gloomy place sooner than they had expected.
“It’ll be a good joke on the others,” remarked Ned, as he gathered into a heap, the rope fetters that had bound him. “We’ll sneak away, and when those fellows come back for us they’ll think we’ve rolled into the swamp, and sunk, and they may make a search for us. Let’s hide the cords and bandages.”
“Sure,” agreed Frank. “We’ll turn the tables on them.”
“Well, whatever we do, let’s get away from here,” suggested Fenn. “It’s too gloomy for my notion. Look, there’s the ledge they lowered us from. It isn’t two feet high, but it seemed like a hundred,” and he pointed to a small ledge of rock, where Sandy Merton and his mates had stood as they lowered from the wagon the lads who were being initiated. Had it not been that Sandy stood on the end of the vehicle, he would not have been high enough to bring about the delusion of the boys going down into some bottomless pit.