"Bully, say I, not meaning to be funny either," remarked Landy; "for I'd a heap sooner believe it was a bovine trying out his bazoo than a thunder-storm heading this way. It's bad enough to be in constant danger of getting ducked by falling overboard, without taking chances overhead in the bargain."
As they did not hear any repetition of the suspicious sound the scouts finally determined that Elmer had guessed right, and that there must be a stock farm not a great distance away from the border of the swamp.
The more they pushed on into what seemed the interminable recesses that surrounded them the greater became their wonder as to how they were to find those they sought. The chances seemed very much against them; but then they had an abounding faith in Elmer's sagacity; and he seemed to be determined on persevering. Doubtless, too, the others reasoned to themselves, Elmer had some clever plan laid out which would be sprung when the proper time arrived; and this confidence did much to relieve their minds as they pressed steadily on.
Lil Artha was apparently bent on making Landy pay for his previous easy time; he kept the other at work, though frequently the fat scout had to hold his push-pole under his arm while he mopped his reeking brow. Perhaps Landy panted very loud on purpose, with the object of causing his obdurate boss to relent, and give him a chance to "spell" with Mark.
Heedless of sighs and half-heard groans alike, Lil Artha just sat there and took his ease, while the slave worked and worked as though he were chained to the galley's oar.
No one ever knew whether it were actually an accident or a deep-laid scheme on the part of the weary Landy to end this period of torture. There may be some things even worse than a mere ducking—at least a stout boy like Landy Smith might think so.
At any rate, none of the scouts happened to be looking very closely at the time, and consequently they could not say one way or the other. All they knew was that without any warning Landy was seen to be dragged out of the stern of the skiff, struggle to clasp his writhing legs about the pushpole that stood at an oblique angle, caught firmly in the tenacious mud, and then releasing his hold, flop with a great splash into the dark-colored water of Sassafras Swamp!