The team had been hired at the town livery stable, and they had been on the road now since early in the morning, for it was a long way up to Lake Solitude.
As this region had been the scene of some of the earliest camps of the Hickory Ridge scouts, of course, the conversation covered many memories connected with those experiences.
The horses had shown signs of playing out some miles back; but Lil Artha proved himself to be an artful as well as clever driver. He managed to coax them along, and there was little doubt now that they would reach their intended destination inside of a short time.
This was a farmer's place that lay adjacent to the swamp at the head of the solitary lake. Here they would arrange to leave their team while searching the dark recesses of the swamp. As all of them had had considerable experience in such unsavory places they believed they knew fairly well how to go about the hunt.
"Well, we ought to fetch that old farm mighty soon now, I should think, Elmer," remarked the driver, as he flecked the back of the off-horse to disturb a big green fly that was trying to stab the sweat-covered animal in a tender spot.
"From what I've been able to find out, and what I know in the bargain from my own experience up here," the patrol leader explained, "the head of the lake lies just beyond that patch of willow trees, and we'll see the farmhouse as soon as we make the next turn. Easy there, Art, you came near dumping us then."
"The pesky old road is so narrow it's hard to keep going straight," complained the other, in disgust; for one wheel had, indeed, slipped over the edge, and their escape from a bad spill had been what Lil Artha himself would have called a "close shave."
"I reckon suh, Sassafras Swamp must lie over in that direction then?" remarked Chatz, pointing as he spoke.
"Just what it does," replied Elmer.
"It looks particularly gloomy, I should say," remarked Toby.