Paul understood the generous impulse that caused the Kentucky boy to speak in this strain and while he knew that it was dangerous to attempt any swifter pace than they were then making, still, for once, he bowed to the will of the majority, and began to increase his speed.
All went well, for beyond a few minor mishaps they managed to get along. What if one of the scouts did occasionally slip off the wretched footing, and splash into the mud; a helping hand was always ready to do the needful, and the delay could hardly be noticed.
"There's the beginning of the firm ground just ahead!" Paul presently remarked, thinking to cheer his comrades with the good news.
"Oh! joy!" breathed Jotham, who often used queer expressions, that is, rather odd to hear from a boy.
Seth was the more natural one of the two when he gave vent to his delight by using the one expressive word:
"Bully!"
In a couple of minutes at this rate they would have reached the place where the slippery trail merged into the more solid ground.
Perhaps some of the others may not as yet have noticed strange sounds welling up out of the bushes beyond, but Paul certainly did, and he was greatly puzzled to account for the same.
That singular growling could not be the wind passing through the upper branches of the trees, for one thing. It seemed to Paul more like the snarling of an angry domestic cat, several times magnified.
For the life of him he could not imagine what a cat would be doing here in the heart of the dreaded Black Water Swamps. Surely no hermit could be living in such a dismal and inaccessible place; even a crazy man would never dream of passing over such a terribly slippery ledge in order to get to and from his lonely habitation.